


Until There's Nothing Left of Us

by capra, snep (rainflash), succulent (capra)



Series: Believer [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angry Yuri Plisetsky, Anxiety Attacks, Childhood Trauma, Communication, Communication Failure, Consensual Underage Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, Families of Choice, Found Family, Happy Ending, M/M, Nikisetsky, Pining Katsuki Yuuri, Platonic Romance, Platonic Soulmates, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Potya is immortal, Protective Yuri Plisetsky, Romantic Soulmates, Secret Relationship, Victor Nikiforov Has Abandonment Issues, Victor Nikiforov is Extra, Vikturio, and, eventual content will include:, makkachin is immortal, plov, that's a promise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 10:35:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 67,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22968586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/capra/pseuds/capra, https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainflash/pseuds/snep, https://archiveofourown.org/users/capra/pseuds/succulent
Summary: Viktor's been part of Yuri's life since he was five years old.  Then one day he just... wasn't.When Yuri was 13, Viktor changed overnight, pushing Yuri away. They went from being best friends to barely being on speaking terms. And Yuri never understood why.  It's been three years since Viktor froze Yuri out of his life, but Yuri still misses him.After winning the Grand Prix gold in his debut senior season, Yuri takes a disappointing fifth place at Worlds. But at the end-of-year banquet, something Yuri couldn't have ever anticipated is about to change for him. It's way better than a consolation prize, and it's about to upend not only his life, but those of his closest friends - and the one he wishes were closer.
Relationships: Victor Nikiforov/Yuri Plisetsky
Series: Believer [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1650652
Comments: 33
Kudos: 104





	1. Boston: blame it on the champagne

**Author's Note:**

> welcome! this is the Believer series, and if you stick with us, you are in for one crazy, long ride.
> 
> book one is called _until there's nothing left of us._  
>  book two is _through the sirens and flashing lights._  
>  book three's title is secret for now ^_^
> 
> This fic is several things. It's **huge,** expansive, and full of fluff and sex. It is the 'getting together, sorting their shit out, and living happily ever after' Vikturio long-form epic that we wanted to see in the world, and didn't. So we made it ourselves.
> 
> Some things before we begin: we don't want to give away too many of the twists, but we will guarantee you, right now, that at the end of this, no matter what else happens between now and then, Viktor and Yuri will be together, healthy, and happy. We promise that we love Otabek and Yuuri and their importances in Yuri and Viktor's lives, and they're gonna get good things too, and happy endings also. 
> 
> Other ships and content warnings will come up and be added to the tags as they appear. Every chapter will have relevant TW's and CW's in its opening notes.
> 
> We promise that there's a lot of fucked up bullshit in Viktor's mind, and in Yuri's, and those damages are going to rear their heads and cause trouble. We promise that all the mental health mess they're carrying around will be handled in depth, with respect, and with seriousness. We promise they're going to heal, and you're going to get to watch that happen.
> 
> This fic will touch on serious concerns like abuse, manipulation, anxiety, and depression. It'll also have ridiculous silliness in it, and above all, lots and lots and _lots_ of fluff, because these boys have suffered enough.
> 
> And it starts... with champagne.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings: consensual underage sex with a significantly older partner.

*

Viktor's not drunk, but he probably should fix that, if he's going to do what he is thinking about doing. If he's going to be this stupid, this impulsive, he should probably get well and truly fucked up so he can blame the alcohol tomorrow morning when he has to face tonight's bad decisions.

He spikes a flute of champagne with some much stronger stuff from Chris's flask and stalks his way out of the ballroom. He knows where to go to find his goal.

*

Yuri's only been drinking champagne because he's still young enough that the other skaters aren't willing to share the stronger stuff with him yet, but he's had a lot and has now escaped to the balcony. He hasn't come alone, though... he managed to nick a whole bottle of champagne from the caterer and has brought it with him.

The cold air feels good on his face, and though it doesn't sober him up, it is helping to get rid of the fog in his head, which isn't entirely the alcohol's fault. He's spent the whole night aware of Viktor, and it's been fucking with his head. Being out here helps, but not enough. He's still aware that Viktor is inside, and he wishes that Viktor would come seek him out, but there's no reason he would. Last he saw, Viktor was flirting it up with the piggy.

So Yuri pops the bottle open and takes a big swig straight from it as he leans out over the railing.

"You're going to drop that." Viktor's leaning against the doorframe, backlit by the banquet hall's low gold glow. The breeze on the balcony sucks the curtains that cover both of the balcony's glass double doors outward. One is pinned between Viktor and the door as he leans on it; the other, on the other side, flaps softly. "It'd be a waste. It looks full."

Yuri does, in fact, nearly drop the bottle but only because he's startled by Viktor's sudden appearance. "Probably not smart to startle a drunk person who's hanging over a balcony railing. I could have fallen." He's still hanging over the railing, though, craning his neck around to look at Viktor and  _ jesus christ _ , why does he always have to look like a fucking model?

"You're too short," Viktor tsks, unbothered. "You'd have to fall through the railing if you wanted to get anywhere." He looks Yuri up and down, narrows his eyes at the bottle. "Give me that."

Yuri rolls his eyes and comes back to his feet, turning around to lean back against the railing instead. "No. Go steal your own."

"Oh, for--" Viktor rolls his eyes, and holds up his champagne flute. "I'm not about to take it from you. Just - I'm empty."

Oh. In that case... "Here." Yuri hands the bottle over and now that his hands are free he rummages around in his pocket to find the little silver case Mila had slipped him earlier. He pulls out a cigarette and lights up while Viktor refills his glass. He only smokes when he's drunk, which isn't often. But Mila is an angel and made sure he was supplied.

Viktor's seen Yuri smoke, though he's not sure Yuri knows that Viktor knows that Yuri smokes. If he was less tipsy, and less interested in getting drunk, Viktor would probably - definitely - say something. Alcohol is one thing, but cigarettes are forever. 

But - he laughs to himself.  _ Yes, let's play the moral role model, the scold, the voice of reason. Mm-hmm. That isn't hypocritical at all. _

Viktor takes a long pull straight from the bottle. And then, his stupid mouth opens on its own, anyway. "That'll wreck your stamina, you know."

"It's only when I'm drinking, which isn't even every banquet. I'll be fine. But if you want to lecture someone about smoking I can give you a list of names..." Yuri reaches his hand back out for the bottle.

"I don't give a shit about the law," Viktor says, taking another pull from the bottle and pointedly keeping it. "I care about your skating."

"You said you weren't going to take it away, give it back!" 

Viktor laughs. "I'm not taking it 'away.' It's right here."

Yuri narrows his eyes and wiggles his fingers in a  _ gimme _ motion. "A few cigarettes once in a while is hardly going to ruin my career."

Yuri's glare is nothing on Viktor's own glare ability, and he turns his on, mildly, in answer to Yuri's. "You're wrong about that. Here. Trade you."

Yuri sighs hard, the way only a teenager can before taking one last, long, defiant drag on the cigarette and flicking it over the railing, not caring who or what might be below. "Happy now?"

Viktor watches it go, falling through the dark with its cherry still smouldering brightly orange. His gaze drifts to Yuri's fingers, his pale bare wrist, before he yanks it away. His gaze lands next on Yuri's scowl, which is even less safe. Viktor looks away, over Yuri's head to the dark city beyond. Frowns. Looks back down. "No. I said trade. I guess I'll just finish this myself."

"Come on, I got rid of it. Not smoking now, see?" He holds his hands up and wiggles his fingers. "Unless you wanted one, too, in which case all you had to do was ask. But that would, in fact, make you a hypocrite." He takes a step forward and reaches for the bottle again.

Viktor hands the bottle over easily. He watches Yuri swallow the drink, lit clearly all in pale shades, white and cream and golden, by the light spilling out onto the balcony. Viktor himself, backlit, tips his head back against the doorframe in shadow, shoulders slumping, and looks up at the sky, its sparse crystal stars. He exhales.

"Oh. I am that, certainly."

Yuri takes a long drink from the bottle and then leans back against the railing once again. He lets his eyes shut for a moment. "You should probably close the door... someone's likely to feel the draft and come out here and I don't really want to be found." He opens his eyes and raises a brow at the silhouette in the doorway. "What are you doing out here, anyway? Last I saw you seemed to be happily flirting with Katsudon. And Chris, but that's nothing new."

"You have hands," Viktor comments, but closes the doors as requested anyway. The latches engage with a click that makes Viktor wonder if they've just been locked out. A problem for future Viktor, he decides.

"Chris and I are friends," Viktor reminds Yuri, for what feels like the millionth time. "And Yuuri is drunk. He always flirts with me when he's drunk."

"What about you? Did you get tired of Mila already?"

"Ugh, no, god. Mila's like my sister." Yuri draws back and wrinkles his nose.

"Which is why you'd be tired of her, isn't it?" Viktor sighs. His head isn't nearly fuzzy enough for this.

"She ditched me, actually. I think she's after one of the pairs skaters. Or ice dancers. I don't know, I can never keep them straight." Another long drink before he hands the bottle back to Viktor.

Viktor tips his head, acknowledging. "I gathered that they struggle with that as well." 

"You didn't answer me," he adds after a while, swinging the bottle gently by its neck to swirl the champagne remaining inside. "Why you're hiding out here."

"I'm not hiding," Yuri grumbles. He leans backward over the railing, letting his hair fall down into nothingness while he looks up at the few stars that manage to break through the light pollution of the city. "I don't know. I was too hot, and it's cool out here." That's not all of it, but he's not willing to be honest about the real reason.

Viktor swallows, watching.  _ Fuck _ . He hates himself a little. More than a little. The Swarovskis and feathers and mesh are absent, packed safely away in Yuri's luggage, but their afterimage is burned in Viktor's brain, and when Yuri lets his hair tip back like that, it summons that image and half a dozen more, straight to the backs of his eyelids.

Not that the snug vest and jeans Yuri's wearing now are poorly suited to him, either.

"Whatever you say," Viktor says, pointedly unconvinced, and uncaring that he's unconvinced. "There's not much going on in there by now, anyway."

"No, I imagine by now most of them have found more interesting things to do. And you never answered my question, either, by the way." The combination of alcohol, and blood rushing to Yuri's head from being upside down is making him dizzy, so he rights himself again.

"I was looking for you," Viktor says, before he thinks better of it. He can't quite finish the bottle in one pull, but he makes a good effort of it.

"I don't need checking up on," Yuri grumbles, taking the bottle back from Viktor. "I'm not a kid." He finishes what's left. He really kind of wants to sit down, but the chairs and lounge are over by Viktor and that's just too dangerous.

Viktor exhales through his teeth. What the hell is he doing? What the hell did he think he was doing, and why did he think getting drunk - which he still is not fully - would help?

He's gone insane. He's absolutely, completely depravedly insane.

Viktor crosses the balcony to the railing. He leans forward onto it, resting on his forearms, and closes his eyes. It's not a cold night, wasn't a cold day, but at this altitude, even a mild breeze gathers a slight, refreshing chill.

Yuri, next to him, radiates heat.  _ As extremely skinny people often do, _ Viktor thinks, distantly.  _ No ability to retain it _ .

Yuri freezes in place when Viktor comes to stand next to him. He doesn't dare move a muscle, but he can feel himself shaking just slightly, and there's no way Viktor can't hear his heart beating erratically in his chest. "I'd have thought you'd be off celebrating."

Yuri's  _ trembling _ . 

Oh, god.

Viktor shudders. He turns his head to look at Yuri, to openly drink him in, his expression, his flushed cheeks, the tightness of his fingers around the bottle neck. Viktor buries his conscience six feet under, with a stake in its heart to keep it there. His mouth is so dry his voice nearly snags on the way out, and comes out soft and quiet and almost rasping.

"I am."

Yuri thinks of half a dozen sarcastic replies, but can't manage to say any of them. His nails dig crescents into the flesh of his hand as he struggles to stand still. He wants,  _ has _ wanted for as long as he's known what it meant.

Viktor licks his lips. Rolls one shoulder back, so he's leaning on the rail with only one arm, opening up his posture toward Yuri. 

"Yuri..."  _ Fuck.  _ **_Fuck_ ** . He's going to hell for this. Probably without his entire cock if - when - Yakov finds out. He still doesn't care enough to stop. That's how overwhelming this has become to him, how consumed by his fixation on this bitchy, headstrong, brilliant, terrifyingly talented nymph in front of him. He's fought it, and fought it, and for better or worse, tonight he ran out, finally, of the last bit of fight left in him.

Viktor watches Yuri's eyes. He watches the little muscle twitches around Yuri's eyes and mouth that betray him, showing how hard he's fighting to control his reaction to Viktor's proximity.

Viktor finds his voice, and it's even lower still, merely a whisper and a half, velvet around all the edges. “Yuri. Please ask me to kiss you."

Yuri's breath catches and he finally brings himself to look directly at Viktor, and..  _ Fuck _ . " _ Please _ , Vitya..."

"God." 

It's scarcely a moan-- just a word carried on an exhalation of effort and motion, as Viktor places his right hand at the small of Yuri's back and pulls. The boy tips into his arms, tripping across the half-pace of space between them, and Viktor's hand very nearly spans the entire width of him, side to side, as he presses Yuri against his own body. 

Viktor bends, curling at the shoulders and neck, to cross the distance of height between them. His left hand curls, knuckles under Yuri's chin to lift it upward; Yuri's pale hair falls back from his face like silk, baring his jaw and cheeks and brow, and Viktor wants to close his fist in it, tangle it between his fingers. He abstains, drinks instead of the bright, broad green of Yuri's eyes, the trembling depth of them as Yuri holds Viktor's gaze, as if there's no choice but to do so, as if he's pinned in place by it.

Viktor closes the distance, keeping his eyes open until the very last moment, until his lips brush down onto Yuri's. And once they touch, suddenly it's Viktor who's pinned, held in place, his chastely closed lips trapped between the last iron-forged reserve of his own self-control and the soft sweet pink death of Yuri's mouth.

Yuri willingly falls into Viktor as he's pulled closer. He's suddenly very aware of how much bigger Viktor is, but it makes him feel safe rather than intimidated.

It seems like forever between the time Viktor pulls him in and then finally kisses him. The kiss is soft and sweet and not what Yuri had in mind. He wraps his arms around Viktor's neck and parts his lips beneath Viktor's, inviting him in.

Viktor shudders, and a little noise of hunger and surrender falls from his lips, into Yuri's mouth. It's all over from there: one hand framing Yuri's face, holding him in place, and one on his back, supporting and lifting him against Viktor. Mouth open, kissing like a starving man, teeth and tongue, taking Yuri's invitation and running with it. He pulls Yuri closer, presses them together closer. No space can be left to remain between them.

Yuri whimpers softly as he presses tight against Viktor. They can't get any closer, but it still doesn't feel close enough. He kisses Viktor back just as passionately, all teeth and tongue. One hand curves around the back of Vikor's neck, while the fingers of the other tangle in silver hair. The champagne bottle falls to the floor, forgotten.

Distantly, Viktor hears the bottle crack and roll away. It doesn't matter - what does is Yuri's hunger, his clinging, grabbing fingers, his soft little sounds, so high and beautifully needful. Viktor needs to hear more of them, more than he needs to breathe. He turns, pulling Yuri with him, and breaks the kiss, putting space between their bodies for a few short moments. 

Viktor braces his own body squarely against the balcony railing. With his feet planted some distance from the railing and his legs splayed, Viktor stands at a shorter height, one that's a little more accessible to Yuri's petite stature. With a hand on Yuri's elbow he tugs, dragging him blessedly close again, pulling him flush against Viktor's body with his legs spread open across Viktor's left thigh. His hand on Yuri's back holds him near, and his hand, spanning Yuri's jaw, neck and nape, holds him in place. Viktor resumes their kiss with a deliberate press of lips, firmly pushing his tongue into Yuri's mouth.

Yuri makes a soft sound of protest when Viktor breaks the kiss and moves Yuri slightly away. He's sure Viktor is going to send him away, or go away himself, leaving Yuri alone out here again. But then he's being drawn back in again and  _ oh! _ this is even better! He leans into and melts against Viktor as they kiss again, fingers tangled once more in soft, silver hair.

He dimly feels like he should be embarrassed by his growing erection, which is pressing against Viktor's thigh, but then that was kind of the whole point of this, wasn't it?

Viktor knew what he was doing. What he was starting. He knew what giving in - even just to one kiss - meant. There's no coming back from that, no undo button to this capitulation. Yuri is young and drunk and vulnerable and looks up to Viktor, all but worships him, and he should be treated as such, carefully, with wisdom. He should be taken care of.

_ Oh, I intend to, _ sobs the back of Viktor's head, the part that's standing back, laughing, watching this trainwreck with his hand on his dick. And it's correct. Viktor missed the exit for decency about five minutes ago, sped straight past it into a place where the heat of Yuri's hard dick against Viktor's thigh just makes Viktor's own even harder, where his admiration for Yuri's skill and attitude and beauty overtake his better judgement.

Viktor skids his hand down Yuri's body. Tucks his fingers into the pocket of Yuri's tight jeans, flexes into a tight grip on Yuri's ass. He tugs upward.

Yuri arches into Viktor's touch and gasps into Viktor's mouth when he's pulled closer and their cocks rub together. He's fantasized about this so many times, but nothing could prepare him for this. For the intensity of it.

They rock together, breathless into each other's mouths, until Viktor pulls back, gasping. His pupils are blown out, eyes dark as he studies Yuri's face like he's memorizing it.

Yuri stays still as Viktor's eyes sweep over him. He's afraid to say or do anything, worried that Viktor will change his mind. He's trying hard to not think about what's going to happen after this.

It strikes Viktor suddenly how stupid he's been. They're on a balcony, with all their peers and colleagues not sixty feet away. Where was he planning to go with this? What was he planning to do next, after kissing Yuri?

But Yuri is looking at him with fear and trust and hope, so much hope, and to see so much of that vulnerable emotion in Yuri, the boy who tries so hard to be jaded... Even as concealed as he's trying to keep it, seeing hope in Yuri, hope  _ he _ put there, makes Viktor want to do any number of stupid things to keep from crushing it.

He gulps, trying to gather his wits. "Yuri... Where can-- this balcony. It's a balcony. We can't stay here."

Yuri knows Viktor is right, but he doesn't like the idea of moving, worried that the spell will be broken once they're back in the bright lights of the real world. "I don't want to go back in there," he murmurs. He presses close again, dropping his head to rest on Viktor's shoulder and winding his arms around Viktor's waist.

Viktor lets out a breath he'd barely intended to hold. Pulling Yuri close into his arms, Viktor cups back of his head with one hand and tries to just exist in this moment, with Yuri's heartbeat near to his.

"Just carry me through. If anyone asks, tell them I'm drunk and you're taking me back. Not actually a lie." Yuri nuzzles into Viktor's neck, content.

Viktor gulps, shaken to his core by Yuri's breath on his throat, Yuri's voice - quite steady, given the circumstances - speaking a logical, simple solution. To enable them to reach more privacy. Privacy with which Yuri intends to do... what? Viktor's blood sizzles. 

"Alright."

And despite his expectations, despite the fear that everyone who sees them would suspect, would somehow know, it does, in fact, go that simply. 

Yuri's hotel room door shuts behind them with an almost insultingly soft click. Shouldn't the gate to damnation slam closed with a rattle of chains? Viktor crosses to the side of the bed and bends forward, laying Yuri down adoringly, like a treasure. 

He steps away feeling sick.

Yuri hadn't expected Viktor to carry him all the way up to his room, but he's definitely not going to argue it. Viktor handles him like he's fragile, breakable, and there's a very large part of him that wants to growl about it, but there's also a part of him that really rather likes it.

He's very happy to be off his feet and on his soft bed and he lets out a long, happy sigh as he snuggles down into the covers and pillows. He opens his eyes and smiles up at Viktor, but... Oh. That look. The smile fades and he sits up, pulling his knees up under his chin. This... this is why he didn't want to leave the isolated world of the balcony.

If he'd put Yuri down sooner, Viktor knows, that would have just created a space between them sooner. Space that would have filled with doubt and guilt. Like that which is now filling the space between them here.

"Yuri..."

He's drawing into himself, feeling rejected, and that's not what Viktor wants either, but...

Viktor sits down on the edge of the bed near Yuri, reaching hesitantly for him with one hand.

Yuri takes Viktor's hand in his and then tugs, pulling Viktor closer. "Do you want me, Viktor?" He's not trying to be sultry or seductive, he simply hates this awkwardness and tension.

Blunt as a sledgehammer. That's his Yuri. Startled, though he shouldn't be, Viktor laughs. But the second laugh comes out half laugh half wrenched miserable groan, and he reaches for Yuri, hand trembling, tracing his cheekbone with one fingertip.

"I do," he admits, feeling exhilarated to finally say it, and sickened to be saying it to Yuri, all at the same time. "I'm... so sorry. You were never supposed to know."

Yuri's eyes flutter shut at Viktor's touch.

"Fuck, don't be sorry. Isn't it obvious I want you, too?"

Viktor pulls his hand back, clenching it into a fist in his lap.

"That isn't the point and you know it," Viktor hisses, looking away, closing his eyes, doing anything he can to wall himself away from this conversation, which is going exactly as hopelessly as he expected it to go, all the hundreds of times he played it out in his mind, strictly reminding himself of what he mustn't forget, why he mustn't ever end up in this conversation for real, mustn't allow himself to get to this point, from which he now has to, must, do anything he can to escape.

Anything, that is, except getting up, or leaving. Because he's not that strong. Which he's already proved, copiously, tonight.

"Viktor..." Fuck, he's not drunk enough for this anymore. "I'm old enough to consent," (barely, his mind chimes in) "and yes, I'm still kinda drunk, but sober me wants this, too. I had to get drunk tonight to try to cope with spending the evening near you, watching you flirt with everyone but me."

There's a lot of that that Viktor could, should, respond to, but the one thing that catches and holds his attention is possibly the least important detail of all. 

"Flirting? I wasn't flirting with anyone."

Yuri snorts softly. "Viktor, you flirt with everyone all the time. Enough that you apparently don't even realize you're doing it. And normally it's okay, but that piled on top of everything else this week... I just couldn't handle it."

Viktor rakes his hair out of his eyes, tugging on it. It doesn't help him focus as much as he hoped it would. 

"You mean I kicked you when you were already down, basically."

"It's hardly like you were doing it on purpose. You're not allowed to feel guilty, okay? About anything. You're not taking advantage of me."

Viktor growls in frustration. "This doesn't work like that, Yuri. What I've already done, you're drunk and, and-- And I manipulated you into a kiss, into this." He waves a hand indistinctly: the room, them, the last half hour. "Which is bad enough! Much less what I've--"

He has, barely, the good sense not to finish that sentence. 

"-- I'm not the man you think I am. I shouldn't have gone this far. I shouldn't go any further."

"I'm sorry."

Yuri tries to blink away the sting of tears at the back of his eyes, but it doesn't quite work. "I've already told you, you're not taking advantage of me. I've wanted this, wanted you since ... forever, really. You didn't force me to do anything. I didn't do anything because I was drunk, either. Or not the way you're thinking. Liquid courage, and all that."

"That's the problem, Yuri," Viktor interrupts. His voice wrenches, and he finally meets Yuri's gaze again, hating that he knows exactly how good he looks right now, with tears in his own. 

"It's not about the law. It's about being your-- about what I am to you, to-- To a lot of people. I, I don't doubt you want me," he hurries to clarify. "I believe you. But I also believe you'll do a lot for your idol, if he only asks."

Viktor smiles sadly. "Even if what he asks isn't fair or right."

"It has nothing to do with that, Viktor. I'm not some starry-eyed fucking fan who grew up with your posters on the wall and only sees the Viktor Nikiforov that your publicist lets you show. I train with you every day, I've seen you fall, I've seen you down. Obviously I look up to you, but trust me, I know you're human."

Viktor quivers. "What if you're wrong?"

Yuri doesn't know how to answer that, so instead he unfolds himself and moves into Viktor's space, almost in his lap. One hand comes up to cup Viktor's cheek and he leans in to press a soft, gentle kiss to Viktor's lips. "Trust me."

"I have too much power over you. My influence could--"

Viktor isn't sure if it's Yuri leaning in for another kiss, or if it's him reaching for the next one, interrupting himself. Yuri fills his senses, lithe and smelling like alcohol and bitter cigarette smoke, hands cool and breath warm. Viktor bites his own tongue. 

But every objection, every one of the reasons he's been repeating to himself for a year and a half that he can't do this, mustn't do this, sounds tinny and dim. Unconvincing.

It would be so  _ easy _ .

Yuri can see that Viktor's at war with himself, so he lays down on the bed, on his side and facing Viktor, and then pulls Viktor down with him. This isn't even about him getting laid tonight anymore. This is deeper than that.

"Viktor, when have you ever known me to bend to anyone's will but my own? When have I ever failed to tell anyone to go to hell if they tried to get me to do something I didn't want to? When have I ever been manipulated?"

Viktor lets himself be pulled down. He doesn't let himself come down on top of Yuri, or intertwine his legs with Yuri's, like he wants to.

Yuri's gaze is cold fire, preternatural, arresting as it ever has been. Viktor is pinned by it, and by Yuri's assuredness. But fear is tenacious, and manipulation has many faces.

"When has someone you trust... this deeply... tried to, though?"

Yuri tenses from head to toe at that. "Why do you think I'm like this?"

Viktor flinches. "I didn't mean... I'm sorry. I didn't think."

"It's fine. You are not like him."

Viktor closes his eyes, draws a shuddering breath, exhales on a shaky, watery laugh. "If I'm not careful, I'll forget who's the adult here, yeah?"

Yuri reaches up to trace a fingertip along the lines of Viktor's face, then pushes his hair away from his eye. "I haven't been a kid in a very long time. None of us have."

Viktor exhales. "That's different. I'm nearly twice your age. That has to mean something."

"It means there will be times that I won't know what to say because I have no experience with whatever you'll be dealing with. And I will feel very, very young. And there will be times that I'm being a typical moody teenager and you'll feel very old. But other couples deal with differences, too." And when the fuck did this become about them being a couple? Oh christ, that's probably not at ALL what Viktor has in mind and now Viktor is going to run screaming for the hills...

_ Couple? _

Well, that DOES throw Viktor for a loop, a serious one. But he finds Yuri's hand and holds it, lightly, while he works through his response, trying to mitigate the sting of his initial, abrupt, flinch.

"And here I thought you'd remind me I'm going to lose my hair first." It's a weak joke, a stall, while he tries to work his way around an answer to the rest. 

It's alarming - no, terrifying - to hear Yuri say such brashly optimistic things after one ill-advised alcohol-assisted series of kisses and five minutes of distressed conversation. 

But on another level, Viktor realizes, there's a useful kernel buried inside of that.

"You've really thought about this, haven't you?" He smiles, wry, at Yuri, comforted a bit by how red he's turning. "About what it might be like to really be real people together."

Posters on the wall don't have those difficulties, after all.

"I... really haven't, actually. It seemed like too much of a pipe dream that I didn't even day dream about it." He can feel his cheeks flaming, so he turns his head to bury his face in his pillow. "I didn't... It just came out. I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Viktor nudges Yuri's cheek with one curled knuckle, tucks some of his hair back behind his ear. "I don't know about... um. Any of that," he says, reddening quite a bit himself. "But that sounded like you're talking about a real person, at least."

"Yuri, I don't think I'd be good for you. You deserve - you need - someone who can grow with you. Not someone who's already done growing, hovering over every accomplishment you earn and every discovery you make like a gloomy umbrella that keeps you out of the sun. Even if I could be sure that I'm not abusing my place as your senior, I still..."

"I have thought about it, " Viktor continues, and he wilts as he does. "And that's why I'm so disappointed in myself for being weak tonight. You deserve better from me. You deserve my best. Not my intentionally trying to get drunk to make it easier to lie to myself about my motivations for following you out onto that balcony."

"Listen, you… You were unbelievable this week. Don't argue. It's not about the medals. Yuri, you're headed somewhere I can't follow. I'm going to be delighted - honored - to step aside when your star surpasses mine. And it's going to happen soon. I have known you, and cared for you, worried over you, worried for you, for years. And what you showed this week... everyone else saw the spark of what I've seen all along. You were radiant, and I let myself get seduced by that radiance, and my own fear, and let my guard down."

"And that, my dear Yura, is why I'm so very sorry."

Yuri's ears begin to ring about halfway through Viktor's speech and by the end he can barely hear Viktor's voice at all. But he doesn't need to hear it to know what's being said. And for possibly the first time since he learned how to talk, he has nothing to say. What could he say?

He's freezing cold, like ice water is flowing through his veins, and he's shaking from head to toe. This isn't his first experience with heartbreak (that came when he found out the hard way that Otabek is straight), and he thought he'd been prepared for this, known that Viktor would ultimately reject him. He knew he'd been fighting an uphill battle. But he hadn't known just how horrible it would feel.

He curls himself into a tiny ball and pulls his arms up to cover his head.

"...Yura?" Viktor touches Yuri's arm, alarmed to realize he's trembling. When Yuri pulls that arm away, pulls all of himself away, Viktor understands that he may have made a truly terrible mistake.

"Yura... no, no, don't, don't do that." Viktor touches his arm, his shoulder. Trying with gentle strokes to find the spot that will make Yuri's armadillo-like defensive posture uncurl. "Please, I'm still here."

"Why?" Yuri manages to choke out. "You just told me you don't want this, so why are you still here?"

Viktor's crying, too, but he's lucky in that it's just tears, absent of the sobs that Yuri's fighting back. 

"No, oh, no...Yuri...Yura, I..." He swallows. "Those are all the reasons I shouldn't want this. All the reasons you deserve better than this." 

_ (Than me.) _

His heart feels so tight it can barely beat, and he can only just whisper. Still, after all of this, after just laying out all of the very, very solid reasons by which it's unhealthy for Yuri that Viktor is entertaining this, that he's enabling any of this... still, despite all that:

"And I still want you anyway, Yura. I shouldn't, I've tried not to. But I can't stop."

Yuri hears what Viktor is saying, but he's hung up on one thing, one detail that should be minor but really,  _ really _ isn't. "You haven't called me Yura since..." And now he does begin to uncurl, just slightly, lowering his arms to look at Viktor who has tears swimming in his eyes.

Yuri gulps. "It's been  _ years _ ."

Viktor can only laugh, humorless, helpless, defeated.

"I told you. I tried." 

_ (To keep my distance, to get over you, to stop falling into you.) _

"You just went back to saying 'Yuri' one day and I didn't know what I'd done wrong. Couldn't figure it out." He reaches up to wipe away a tear that managed to escape Viktor's eye. "You really want me? You won't send me away?"

"You became beautiful," Viktor says, which isn't exactly true - Yuri's always  _ been _ beautiful - but it encapsulates the meaning, if not the detail, of what happened, several years before, that inspired Viktor to abandon familiar speech and retreat to the relative safety of Yuri's given name.

Viktor swallows, recognizing that a great chasm has opened up beneath his feet. He's already fallen too far to get back to safety. But it still feels... final, foreboding, to put that inescapable feeling into words. He's still not quite strong enough. 

"Yura..." Viktor tips his cheek into Yuri's touch. Without thought, simply following his feelings, he kisses Yuri's palm.

Yuri tucks himself in against Viktor and leans in to kiss him softly. He'll just have to show Viktor that there's no reason to worry, nothing to be afraid of. 

If they can just make it a couple of years, things will be easier.

Viktor gasps, soft, into Yuri's mouth. He rolls forward into him, drawing Yuri's approach into his own, ending with a collaborative closeness and Viktor braced on his elbows above Yuri.

Viktor keeps his body weight (mostly) responsibly suspended, so he doesn't crush the resilient, fragile-looking body beneath him, and kisses Yuri like a fish drowning in air, diving downward into the safety below him. His hands - one in Yuri's hair, one touching his shoulder - hover, seemingly afraid to touch down.

It's such a cliche, but Viktor can't help it, as tears squeezed from the corners of his eyes roll off of his skin and onto Yuri's.

Yuri kisses him back, slightly less desperately but with no less feeling. He strokes his fingers down Viktor's spine and then back up again. This, them together, feels so good, so right... it feels like home. "It's okay, Vitya. You're okay."

Viktor laughs, soggy, between kisses. "You're very biased."

"Who cares if I am?" Yuri smiles up at Viktor, his heart in his eyes.

That inspires another burst of tears from Viktor, but he ducks down and away rather than let them control him. Lips on Yuri's throat, Viktor lines its contours with kisses, then pushes aside Yuri's shirt collar to bare the side of his neck and continues his kisses there as well.

"Oh, Vitya." Yuri's heart is breaking for Viktor. But Viktor's lips on his skin are pleasantly distracting and Yuri's all but purring as those lips explore his neck. His fingers dip up under Viktor's jacket to tug his shirt free from his trousers, then, finally, he can caress the skin of Viktor's back.

Viktor shudders, almost crumples entirely down onto Yuri. One hand in Yuri's hair, Viktor seeks Yuri's mouth again, and hides his miserable hungry noises there rather than letting them out into the air. Yuri is everything he's wanted, and so much more than he deserves. Especially since, by choosing to take him for his own, Viktor deserves him even less. He nips Yuri's lip, kisses him hard, banishes those thoughts as far as he can from his conscious mind. The decision's been made. He may as well enjoy its results.

Yuri hooks one leg over Viktor's, holding him close, even has his hands come out to shove at the shoulders of Viktor's jacket. There's  _ way _ too many clothes.

Viktor's not much help in that department, until Yuri gets his jacket shoved far enough down his arms that it impedes his movement. Then he rears up onto his knees and removes it, and his tie and waistcoat while he's at it. His shirt stays on and closed, sleeves pushed up. 

From this angle, kneeling above Yuri, straddling him, Viktor makes the mistake of looking down, taking it all in: bitten red lips, flushed throat and cheeks, darkening eyes, mussed hair. Hands reaching impatiently for Viktor to come back down. 

He's lightheaded and his whole body clenches with it, a pulsing, heady recoil to the hit of arousal that punches the air from his lungs.

He knows the sound he just made was not coherent.

Yuri suddenly realizes just how completely sober he is, and while it's probably a good thing, he kind of misses the heady spaciness of the buzz. Above him, Viktor looks wrecked but still ridiculously attractive. He  _ needs _ to get back down here and kiss Yuri again, and Yuri emphasizes this with a grumble that is completely comprehensible without words.

Viktor dives back down onto him with a purpose. He doesn't want to break this kiss, won't tend to any other task or part of Yuri, until Yuri is begging him to.

Yuri loves kissing and being kissed. Not that he's had a lot of experience messing around with other boys, but he's had some, and kissing is one of the things he likes best. And of course Viktor has to be the best of the best. They kiss until Yuri has no breath left, until he pulls away gasping and tips his head back, requesting more attention to his neck.

Viktor obliges, but only briefly. He's a man on a mission. He works his way down Yuri's chest without dawdling, opening his vest and shirt, kissing his chest just above his heart, continuing down. If Yuri guides him he'll follow, but he's not to be distracted for long. He has his own goal firmly in mind. 

At Yuri's belly he pauses, kissing and nipping, buying time. Yuri sucks his tummy in as Viktor pays it attention, and then Viktor's hands are on his belt buckle- and then his fly, doing the button. Viktor pauses there. He sucks in a heavy breath and looks up, all the way up, seeking Yuri's gaze. 

"Yura. Please, tell me I can."

Their eyes meet... and there's that heady dizziness again. "God, yes," Yuri rasps.

Viktor has Yuri's jeans open and shoved down to mid thigh in a matter of seconds. Yuri's full and rigid, held down by his underwear, and Viktor frees him with delicate, lingering touches. With Yuri bare in front of him like this, needful and aching and new, Viktor just about short-circuits, and he strokes his palms up and down Yuri's hips and thighs, gentling him like a skittish horse. It helps, allows him take a moment to steady himself, too.

"Oh, God. Yura." Sounding fully stunned, he licks his lips and descends. 

Viktor has quite a bit of experience with giving head. It's an art, not all about the cock alone but also all its parts, the different sensations inherent to each, the sensitive areas of inner thigh and crest of hipbone and dip of belly, all giving context to the soft wet enclosure of lips and tongue.

Viktor does his best now, listening to Yuri's body, doing more of what it likes, less of what it doesn't. He glances up from time to time, watching Yuri's chest heaving.

He's still half dressed, but Yuri has never felt more naked in his life, laid out here beneath Viktor. Viktor's hands leave trails of fire in their wake. He's already breathing hard and biting his lip to try to keep from making too many embarrassing noises.

All of that effort is for naught, though, as soon as Viktor's hot, wet mouth closes around him. There's no describing the sound that escapes his lips as he arches his back and tries his best to keep his hips still.

One hand is fisted in the bed covers, and the other is threaded into Viktor's hair, not guiding or restraining, simply hanging on.

Viktor would like to encourage Yuri, tell him how beautiful he sounds, how incredible he feels, bucking on Viktor's tongue, squirming beneath him, fighting himself to stay still or seize up in pleasure. It's incredible, he's incredible, and Viktor wants him to know that. But with his mouth full of Yuri's cock, the best he can do is reach forward, finding Yuri's hand, coaxing it open, so Viktor can lace their fingers together. Maybe it will be an anchor for Yuri, who through no personal fault of his own surely won't be able to last much longer like this. Maybe Yuri won't even be able to notice the touch, too overcome by all the other sensations demanding his attention. Either way, Viktor wants to hold on, wants - for his own sake - not to let Yuri out of his grasp.

Yuri is grateful for Viktor's hand in his, grounding him somewhat. He's completely overwhelmed: by sensation and by the thoughts that keep drifting in and out of his head. He knows he's close already, and tries not to be embarrassed by the fact that he won't have lasted long.

Every flick of Viktor's tongue, every stroke of his fingers brings Yuri that much closer until he throws his head back and his back arches completely off the bed. He comes down Viktor's throat. Sound fades away, leaving him drifting pleasantly for a bit in bliss, happy to be still holding onto Viktor's hand, to have that connection.

Slowly, Yuri comes down from his high, shivering and twitching. Viktor pillows his cheek on Yuri's thigh and waits it out with him. He listens to the thunder of Yuri's pulse, rushing under the skin beneath his ear.

Eventually, back down to earth, Yuri combs his fingers through Viktor's hair, pulling it away from his face. He feels like he should say something, but anything that comes to mind just seems... inadequate and juvenile. And he knows better than to give voice to what he most wants to say.

Viktor swallows, licks his lips - by necessity, and also a little nervously. He pushes himself up, carefully tucks Yuri back into his underwear, then walks his way on hands and knees back up the bed to lay down beside Yuri again. This time, with Yuri's clothes all pulled open in disarray, it doesn't feel right to simply lay side by side, facing each other. But buttoning Yuri back up, as though to hide what just transpired, would break something important - something that, looking in Yuri's eyes, Viktor suspects they both felt, and which, for now, has to remain unnamed between them. 

Viktor pulls Yuri close, using his broader frame and longer limbs to his advantage to wrap himself entirely around Yuri, tucking Yuri's face against Viktor's chest. He buries his own in Yuri's hair. Scents of alcohol and cigarette smoke still linger in Yuri's hair and on his breath, but they've grown faint. Overpowering those now are the tangs of sweat and sex that permeate Yuri and Viktor both.

Yuri snuggles happily and contentedly against Viktor, his eyes slipping shut again as pure exhaustion overtakes him. He's happy to stay curled up together like this for a while, but he dimly thinks he should reciprocate, and if nothing else they definitely shouldn't fall asleep in their clothes.

Viktor knows he's the one who's got to be responsible, to take care of Yuri in all the practical ways, not just the pornographic ones. And when he feels Yuri starting to go lax, dozing off in his arms, he knows he's got to do so now. Ignoring that is only going to end up with both of them waking up uncomfortable, and Yuri probably with a cold. So Viktor nudges him awake, brushing his hair back, and gives him a little tug on his shirt collar. 

"Yura, we should go to bed properly. Pajamas."

Yuri grumbles. He's uncomfortable and of course Viktor's right (and he'd even had the thought himself), but he's so tired and he doesn't want to leave the warmth of Viktor's arms. He lounges for a few more moments before grumpily pulling away and sitting up. His mouth is dry and he can still taste alcohol and cigarette smoke and he's going to be sick in the morning if he doesn't brush his teeth before he falls asleep. Sometimes being human is a bitch.

Viktor's feeling rather the same. Compounded by his lack of toothbrush or pajamas or, really, anything he needs, since this is Yuri's room, is his grumpiness that going to sleep and getting a shower are mutually exclusive. He wants both, and being cranky that he's got to choose is a safe anchor for his floating, sleepy attention. If he were alone, shower would likely win, but with company, the winning choice is sleep, easily. Viktor leans near, kisses Yuri, and putters into the bathroom to wash up before sleep.

"There should be an extra toothbrush in one of the drawers if you want it," Yuri calls to Viktor as he finally swings his legs off the bed. He'd left his at home, of fucking course, and the only ones at the convenience store near the hotel came in a two-pack.

He rummages around in one of his suitcases until he unearths a clean pair of underwear, a pair of pajama pants, and a t-shirt. He knows he doesn't have any pants that would fit Viktor, but he does find an oversized t-shirt that should fit. He quickly changes clothes, then pads into the bathroom to join Viktor.

"Sorry I don't have any pants for you, but here's this if you want it." He sets the shirt on the counter, then busies himself with brushing his teeth.

Something about this is putting him a bit on edge.

"Thank you," Viktor says, meaning it - the sudden return of a toothbrush into his evening is worth smiling over. Still, there's a tension - just a little - that grows as they brush their teeth, change, use the toilet. 

_ Being a real live human being around each other, or thereabouts _ . Wasn't that how he'd put it? Maybe that's all this is. It's confusingly more awkward now than it should be, or has ever been before. But maybe it's a temporary state of being-- negligible, momentary. Hopefully.

Yuri would normally put his hair in a braid or up in a loose bun for the night, but it's already wrecked so he opts to just leave it down. This means he's finished in the bathroom before Viktor is. He heads back to bed and hesitates a few moments before crossing the room to stand in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows. The view out over the river and across the city is not as pretty (or as big) as St Petersburg, of course, but pretty enough.

Once he's done in the bathroom as well, Viktor crosses the room to stand behind Yuri. There's more light in the room than outside it, so Viktor's reflection in the window glare is a clearly delineated shadow, broader and taller, behind Yuri's own. 

Viktor loops his arms over Yuri's shoulders loosely, wrists crossed in front of them both. The city outside, not yet asleep, pays them no mind.

Yuri leans back into Viktor, his head settling naturally into the curve of Viktor's shoulder and arm. He's been feeling very small and very young, and he's trying hard to not think about what's going to happen in the cold light of morning. Yakov likes to give them a day off between the end of a competition and their travel day whenever possible, and since both he and Viktor have nearly two weeks before their first ice show, they won't have to wake up early and rush around tomorrow.

But will Viktor wake up feeling guilty and slip away to his own room before Yuri wakes up-- and then go back to avoiding him? Will he have to watch Viktor slowly destroy himself because he thinks he can't or shouldn't have what he wants?

Viktor shifts with Yuri, supporting him, and he's gratified to feel Yuri tipping some of his body weight onto Viktor, trusting him to hold him. He presses a kiss idly into Yuri's hair and watches the city, content to spend this quiet, rare moment of empty, thoughtless respite with Yuri as his witness. It's nice to not think, and he doesn't know how long that will last, so he means to savor it while it does.

Yuri smiles and sighs softly, telling the thoughts swirling around in his head to fuck off and leave him alone. Whatever is going to happen tomorrow will happen and there's no use stressing about it now.

"Congrats on the competition, Vitya. Katsudon skated beautifully." There's no bitterness in his voice; he means what he's saying. He's disappointed that he wasn't on the podium himself, but he knows he didn't deserve to be.

"Thank you, Yura," Viktor murmurs, kissing Yuri's hair once again. He turns his head aside, resting his cheek there, and getting his lips stuck on the white-blond strands they drag against as he speaks. "But the credit is Yuuri's, you know. I can't take it for myself."

Did he intentionally emphasize the I sound at the end of his student's name? Perhaps.

"Maybe not, but he wouldn't have that medal without you as a coach, so it's still partly yours." He doesn't hate Katsudon, not really. He's kind and sensitive and doesn't have a mean bone in his body, and sometimes when he gets snarky Yuri actually kind of likes him. But he still can't help feeling jealous, for more than one reason. 

"It's his," Viktor insists cheerfully. "He and I have already talked about it. If I got credit for every one of his medals as his coach, since I'm in the same discipline, it would undermine his feeling of ownership for any of his victories, any of his hard work. I'll happily just go back to winning my own next year, and do that until I retire. Then I'll take all the credit for his that I like, okay?"

Well that's him told. "Sorry," Yuri mumbles, tipping his head back to press a kiss to the underside of Viktor's jaw. "I really don't dislike him," he feels the need to say.

Viktor melts, charmed by Yuri's apology. "It's really alright," Viktor says, and he pulls Yuri just a bit closer, squeezing their embrace briefly into a hug to reassure him. "I know you don't, and he knows it too. You don't have to like him. Just be nice enough. Yeah?"

Yuri smiles and turns in Viktor's arms, leaning up to kiss him properly. "I suppose I can do that." As long as he doesn't have a reason to be jealous he can be nice.

Viktor rolls his eyes, tsking, but gives Yuri the kiss he wants anyway. "Only because now you know you're the cat who got the cream, hmm?"

"Mm, not only. I kinda like him sometimes anyway." But he doesn't want to talk about the Other Yuuri now. He kisses Viktor's lips again, then trails soft little kisses down one side of Viktor's neck, biting softly at the spot where neck and shoulder merge.

Viktor's got little choice but to help support Yuri's balance as he stretches up to reach all the places he wants to kiss. Amusing himself, Viktor doesn't bend to make this easier for Yuri; he savors the soft breaths that puff against his skin in between kisses, the curl of Yuri's fingers into a little fist against Viktor's chest. 

"Weren't you sleepy?" His voice is languid, heavy. He tips his chin back, closing his eyes, and the tendon in his neck jumps when Yuri bites its base.

"I was, but then someone made me get out of bed." One of his hands slips up under Viktor's shirt, his fingertips skipping up Viktor's spine as he nibbles the point of Viktor's clavicle.

Viktor sighs, and slides one hand from Yuri's shoulders to the small of his back, so he can press him close and hold him there. "Someone might be about to carry you back there," Viktor comments mildly, "because if you're not going to be mindful of that knee, then he will for you."

"My knee is fine," Yuri says automatically, bristling. He hasn't confirmed in any of his post-competition interviews that he's injured, and he's been taking mild painkillers to hide the limp. He doesn't want the rest of the field to know he's hurt, and he doesn't want to blame his performance in the free on his injury.

Viktor smiles, unamused, and with both hands on Yuri's shoulders he pushes their bodies apart, sets Yuri fully onto his own two feet. His voice is light - the brooks-no-disagreement kind of light. The  _ 'no of course I didn't mind waiting three hours because you overslept' _ kind of light. (Not that he's ever had to use it for that specific reason on Yuri. Yuuri, on the other hand...)

"And to keep it that way, you will either get back onto that bed, or I will make you."

Oh, Yuri knows that voice, knows Viktor isn't fucking around. He also knows that Viktor can see right through him. But he can't help smirking and raising an eyebrow. That sounds like a challenge!

Before he's thought it through all the way, he drops to his knees, only wincing slightly as he settles, and looks up at Viktor, biting his lip.  _ Make your choice, Vitya _ .

Viktor should have anticipated that Yuri's specific format of rebellion would be this; he curses himself silently for inspiring Yuri to kneel as the boy drops. Intentionally or not, it's still on Viktor, it's still his responsibility, and he grits his teeth to see that wince, no matter how well hidden it was. Damn it. 

Viktor turns on his heel, making a deliberate point, and walks back over to the bed. He sits down at the head end with his thighs spread, one foot on the mattress with his knee drawn up, one foot on the floor. He lets Yuri see, invites him to.

Make  _ your _ choice, Yura.

_ Dammit _ . Yuri sighs slumps just a bit, knowing he's lost this round. There's no point staying here on the floor like a pouting toddler, so he gets back to his feet (with another small grimace) and slinks over to the bed. He settles himself on the mattress facing Viktor and leaning slightly against his raised leg.

Viktor sighs in relief as Yuri gives in. He really didn't want to fight Yuri about it. But he would have if he'd had to. 

Viktor does wish he'd picked a better position to sit in, though, as Yuri sits down on the edge of the bed, between his thighs. Laying down, perhaps, would have been better, because he is tired. He reaches for Yuri, combing his fingers gently into his hair, inexpertly avoiding tugging on the few tangles he finds. 

"As much as I appreciate your intent - and I do, Yura, I do. Very much." Viktor pauses, letting Yuri see the effort with which he sets aside that very distracting mental image. "As enjoyable as that would be right now, I think getting some sleep is wiser." 

"Don't worry though." Viktor leans forward, kisses Yuri gently on his perfect mouth. "You'll have another chance."

Yuri wraps his arms around Viktor's neck when he leans forward and doesn't let go again. He can't help pouting slightly against Viktor's lips. "Fine," he grumbles.

He shifts his weight forward so that Viktor falls back against the pillows again, settling himself comfortably on Vikor's chest and draping his right leg over Viktor's hip, trying to find a comfortable position for his totally-fine-and-absolutely-not-injured knee.

Viktor kisses Yuri again, because he's being cross, and because Viktor's starting to get giddy with the whole of this night, the entirety of the reality that's slowly sinking into his skin with each new, mundane little thing that happens, each little unremarkable thing. He's starting to forget that this - Yuri in his lap, his half naked lap, splayed across him, Yuri cuddling him in a state of postcoital undress! - is wrong. That it's what he's been so scared of, so resolute against, for so long. That he entered this night drunk and disgusted with himself. And now he's gently rubbing Yuri's knee, trying to coax circulation, gently feel for pain or strain, while he kisses the top of Yuri's head, while his other hand strokes down Yuri's body, shoulder to back to ass.

"Really, I should lay you out and get some ice on this," he says, concerned, as he feels the telltale heat of swelling, which means at least a strain. "You've got to take care of them, Yura. Once they go, they're gone, and then you'll be rickety like me."

"Mmm, yes, because we all know it's rickety old men who win medals." Yuri presses his face against Viktor's neck and sighs softly at the feeling of his hand on his knee, and the fingertips skimming up and down his back.

He's torn between wanting to stay just like this, and knowing that Viktor is right (as usual) and he should ice his knee before he falls asleep again.

That was an actual compliment. Two of them in one sentence. With no venom to go along. While discussing Yuri's weakness. Viktor draws in a long breath, and it shakes. He pushes Yuri's head up, pushes his hair back from his face, so he can look him square in the eyes. There's an exclamation on the tip of his tongue, a dangerous one, one he's not ready for, but Yuri very nearly surprised it out of him just now.

Instead, Viktor collects Yuri in his arms, moving them both until they're once again laying side by side on the bed, with Yuri on his good side, so his bad knee won't take any pressure. Viktor threads one leg between Yuri's, tangling their ankles together, and kisses Yuri till he's made himself short of breath.

Yuri's not normally a big fan of direct eye contact unless he's trying to intimidate someone, but he forces himself to meet Viktor's eyes, although he can feel his cheeks warming up a bit. And it looks for all the world like Viktor wants to say something, but just when Yuri thinks he's going to speak he ends up settling them on the bed.

Yuri presses himself as close to Viktor as he can, and absolutely melts as Viktor kisses him. Seriously, he could happily do this all night. Except... "Why is the light still on?"

Viktor drags his palm up Yuri's body, belly to chest to neck. He lingers on Yuri's chest, stroking the pad of his thumb in little arcs across Yuri's nipple till it's tight. Then, with the fingers of his other hand curled around the back of Yuri's neck, thumb stroking idle arcs on his cheek, Viktor smiles. 

"Because when it's off I won't be able to see you. And I'm still memorizing the ways you look, like this."

Yuri gasps and shivers hard as Viktor's thumb brushes across his nipple, and he leans his head into Viktor's hand.

"God, Vitya, you can't just  _ say _ things like that..." He's blushing again, and hides his face against Viktor's neck.

"Why not?" Viktor, holding Yuri against him tightly, feels that shiver in his own bones. And other places. He squeezes his current handful of Yuri - the back slope of his thigh, below his ass - and laughs. "I mean it. Your eyes-- and now that I can look freely, Yura, I don't want to stop."

Yuri's sure he's blushing down to his toes now, but he comes out from hiding and makes himself meet Viktor's eyes again. Viktor looks absolutely beautiful... much better than he's looked in a long time. Not that he's ever  _ not _ beautiful, but... "You look happy," Yuri realizes suddenly.

Yuri's words hit Viktor like a brick, squarely between the eyes. He's right, and, wide-eyed, Viktor doesn't know what to do with this information. Not only that he's happy, now, in this moment, in bed with Yuri Plisetsky.

But that he hasn't been. Recently, and for a while. 

"God," he breathes, and it's an expletive, not a prayer. "I'm supposed to be getting up and getting ice for your knee. I care very much about it, you know. And yet..." 

He dips in for another kiss, and his breath is shakier than ever when he pulls away. He's trying very hard not to think about the fact that he hasn't come tonight.

"Shhh, Vitya, it's fine." Yuri strokes a calming hand down Viktor's back. "I jammed it when I slid into the boards and yes, it hurts if I turn it the wrong way or kneel directly on it, but it's not career-ending. I've been icing it since the free and I'll put the brace back on it tomorrow - UNDER my track pants. Just... stay here and don't work yourself up over it."

Viktor kisses Yuri again, and again, and it soothes him, which is maybe backwards of how it should be. When he tips onto his back, pulling Yuri over onto him like a blanket, he means to calm the restlessness simmering under his skin.

He's kind of an idiot.

Yuri goes willingly when Viktor rolls them over. He kisses Viktor firmly, then ducks down and shimmies down the bed until he's settled between Viktor's thighs. He hooks his thumbs into the waistband of Viktor's briefs and eases them down. He'd rather have taken his time getting here, but he's tried that twice already tonight and he's NOT going to be told no for a third time. Viktor's cock springs free and Yuri wraps his fingers around it gently, licking a stripe up the underside.

Viktor goes rigid under Yuri as he moves, as he realizes where Yuri's headed. "Yura, no, you don't have to..." Yuri doesn't stop, and Viktor hisses through his teeth when Yuri puts his hands on his cock.

" _ Yura, _ " and this time it's meant to be a warning. It might be, if it wasn't so weak. "That isn't necessa- _ aah! _ -ary." Viktor licks his lips, resolutely keeps his gaze pinned on the ceiling, breathing through his nose. Not looking down at Yuri's mouth, at his lips. "Come back here."

Yuri just growls at Viktor and stays focused on his work. He knows he doesn't have to do this, but he wants to -  _ has wanted _ to - and he's not stopping even long enough to answer. He's not giving Viktor another chance to derail this.

Viktor's only about half-hard, so Yuri sets about remedying that.

Viktor closes his fist around a handful of the sheet, pressing his teeth together, carefully locking his jaw so he doesn't bite his own tongue. It's not that he's easy, or that at his age he can't rise as embarrassingly quickly as he could at sixteen. It's just that it's Yuri, and Viktor has had a dozen shameful fantasies about exactly this, has spent nights resolutely not thinking about thinking about filling Yuri's tiny perfect lips and big brash mouth with his cock until he drools on it. About looking down, seeing the worship in those brilliant eyes that Yuri always fights so hard to keep hidden, to minimize with insults.

If he looks down, this will be real. If he reaches out, threads his fingers into Yuri's hair, lets his hand quietly - even passively! - ride along as Yuri's head bobs up and down his length, as his pink punk mouth plucks kisses along the side of Viktor's shaft --

"Yura," Viktor breathes, through his teeth, breathing shallowly, everything in his body held tense and taut. Every part of him is hard and tight and waiting now, waiting either for Yuri to quit, to take pity, have mercy. 

Or for Viktor to give in. 

"Yura, I..."

Yuri can absolutely sense the tension in Viktor's body and he knows Viktor's thinking too much. That won't do at all.

Yuri keeps the fingers of one hand wrapped around the base of Viktor's cock as he simultaneously reaches up with his other hand to pinch Viktor's hip as a silent warning to shut up and seals his mouth around the head of Viktor's cock.

" _ Yuraaa, _ " Viktor says again, but this time it's more of a squawk, and accompanied by a twitch, a flinch, that moves his hips on the mattress. His cock throbs on Yuri's tongue, inside the snug hold of his lips. In his lips. Viktor whimpers, mouth opening quietly, eyes squeezed shut, and he draws one, shaking, last chance breath. "Please, I-- Yura, I--"

Yuri is frustrated with his inability to talk at the moment, to tell Viktor he's being fucking stupid and he's not quite sure how to get that across. He's also annoyed that Viktor isn't touching him or looking at him, so he reaches out with his free hand to do what Viktor had done earlier, gently but firmly pulling Viktor's hand away from the sheet and fitting his own hand into it instead.

Viktor is so focused on controlling the reactions of the rest of his body, holding himself in check, that Yuri's hand in his catches him completely off guard. He's already closed his grip around Yuri's fingers and drawn a breath, deeper than those that came before, deep enough to make his belly flutter and his cock move in Yuri's hand, before he remembers the moment, less than two hours ago, that Yuri's mirroring. 

Viktor needed an anchor then, not for himself but for Yuri: a balloon string to keep Yuri from drifting too far from him, to keep Viktor within Yuri's awareness. Now the string is on the other wrist, it seems. Viktor's fighting to detatch himself from this moment, to divorce himself from admitting the reality of it. And it strikes him suddenly how intensely unfair to Yuri he's being by doing so. Yuri isn't his fantasy anymore; shameful or no, there's a real boy on the bed with him, and to ignore his heart and use his mouth is surely a greater abuse than anything else Viktor could do to him.

Viktor adjusts his hand in Yuri's, turning it so he can squeeze Yuri's tight and curl his thumb over the back of it. Viktor strokes small arcs there, rubbing reassurance into the skin, and the brush of his thumb on the back of Yuri's hand brings hot, unexpected tears to Yuri's eyes. 

Yuri had been just about to give up, to pull away and find somewhere to lick his wounds in private, because he might be determined, but to keep going when Viktor was resisting so much would have just felt wrong. But Viktor gave in, he's present and he  _ wants _ this. 

Viktor works saliva into his dry mouth, unsticking his tongue from the roof of his mouth so he can speak.

"You feel so good, Yura," Viktor whispers. His voice is faint, almost like it's afraid of itself, but he wets his lips and continues. Yuri deserves at least this much from him. 

Viktor's chin is pointed to the ceiling, neck and jaw held tight, and his breath comes more shallowly. He turns inside himself and allows himself to feel, to really feel, what Yuri's doing to him.

"I-- I thought about this," Viktor confesses. "I thought about t-touching your lips with- with me. I'd paint your mouth so it sh-shone." He licks his own lips, sweat beading on his brow, thighs trembling. "Like lipgloss."

The words tumbling out of Viktor's mouth are so, so fucking hot. Not just the words themselves, but also the idea that Viktor has thought about this. Has fantasized about him, about Yuri. He moans around Viktor's cock and redoubles his efforts now that he knows they're truly welcome.

" _ Yura. _ " Viktor's breathing hard now, spurred on by the clutch of Yuri's palm around his base, the press of his tongue under the swell of Viktor's cockhead. Yuri's working him over thoroughly, holding nothing back, inspired by Viktor's honesty. It makes Viktor want to share more, want to tell Yuri about the way his grace on the ice stokes Viktor's competitive fire and folds his whole heart into a pretzel all at the same time. But every time he's gathered the breath to do so, Yuri twists his fingers, or flicks his tongue, or hums, and leaves Viktor spinning. 

Viktor's had more technically advanced blowjobs. Ones with more finesse, more drama. But he's not sure he's had a more satisfying one.

Slowly his leg draws up, knee bending, and falls to the side, opening his thighs to Yuri. Viktor's hips are twitching now, and his breath and muscle are working together to make his belly quiver, shivering every time Yuri's long hair, spilled out from its tuck behind his ear, tickles his skin.

"Y-Yura," Viktor breathes, rolling his lower lip between his teeth. "Yura. Please, Yura. I want--" He struggles for the words, any words, mouth working without sound. 

"I want..."

Yuri knows what Viktor wants, knows Viktor is getting close. Spit dribbles down between his fingers as he pulses them around the base of Viktor's cock and hollows his cheeks, taking Viktor in as far as he can. His voice is going to be wrecked tomorrow but right now he couldn't care less. He's been taking mental notes about what Viktor's body seems to be reacting best to, cataloging everything away. He really wishes he had another hand free, but he is NOT going to let go of Viktor's.

Viktor feels Yuri struggling, pushing himself to take him more, take him deeper. His fingertips press the vein, and Viktor's cock bucks, hungry for more of the strangling grip Yuri has on it. Viktor himself groans, low in his chest, fingers and toes tingling, skin pulling tight around his whole body, like he's swallowed a star.

Viktor's nearly there, and the edge is approaching steadily, inexorable. He squeezes Yuri's hand tightly as his need coils, pulling itself in and in, drawing down toward its end. Sudden urgency grips him. He has to see this. He has to see Yuri when he comes. The desire is all-consuming, and it gives Viktor the focus he needs to gain leverage against the bed with his free hand, to push himself awkwardly up onto his elbow, to pull his head forward, heavy on his straining neck and shoulders, and to open his eyes. 

Yuri's pale gold hair has fallen forward, covering much of his face, obscuring most of the scene from Viktor's view. Poised between Viktor's thighs, focused in entirety on his task, Yuri's an improbable vision: thin, strong limbs, porcelain skin and lithe muscle, all in the most petite form.

Through a gap in the curtain of his hair, Viktor can glimpse Yuri's face. His eyes are closed, lashes softly laid down. A furrow of concentration creases his brow, and the corners of his eyes; down below the angles of his cheekbones and the line of his nose, the pink peaks of his upper lip are stretched wide over the curve of Viktor's shaft. His smooth cheeks bow inward, delicate concave hollows between which, inside that big brash mouth, Viktor's cock is squeezed.

Yuri's eyes flick open, and he flicks his gaze, vibrant green and glassed over with lust, up Viktor's body. Their gazes lock, all the breath leaves Viktor's body, and he sees white.

Yuri's been glancing up at Viktor's face throughout, but this is the first time Viktor's eyes have met his and he couldn't look away even if he wanted to. It's been a very long night and they've been through a lot since Viktor found him on the balcony. A lot of words have been spoken, but there are more that they've both shied away from, and right now all of those words are in Viktor's eyes.

In the heat of the moment Viktor's hips jerks and the head of his cock hits the back of Yuri's throat, making him gag a bit; then Viktor is spilling into his mouth. Yuri wrinkles his nose as he swallows, hating the texture, and thinking to himself that he's going to have to brush his teeth again before he falls asleep. But he's not annoyed with Viktor for it. He knew how close Viktor was and made the decision not to pull off.

Eventually, once Viktor goes still and limp, Yuri does pull away and lets the elbow that he'd been propped up on buckle, collapsing completely onto the bed and resting his head on Viktor's thigh. He's exhausted and his jaw aches, but he's still content and happy.

Viktor comes back to himself slowly. He's flat on his back, and Yuri's pillowed his head on Viktor's leg. His breath flutters against the thin skin of Viktor's inner thigh. Viktor's own breath rakes through his chest, and his throat feels raw, as if he'd been on the other end of this. As for the one who was...Viktor realizes they're still holding hands. It kind of stuns him. It shouldn't, he realizes, but it does.

"Yura." His voice is raw, but still he whispers, urgently. "Yura, come-- come up here."

Yuri manages to summon up the energy to crawl up the bed, his knee be damned, to curl himself into Viktor's side, settling his head on Viktor's chest where he can hear Viktor's heart beating a fast rhythm under his cheek.

Viktor draws a breath, which feels like an unbelievably easier task with Yuri in his arms, and wraps him up tightly in an embrace that uses his whole body. Legs and arms entangled, head tucked into the crook of Yuri's neck, heart pounding wildly. There's still very little thought in his mind, and most of it is this:  _ Yuri, in his arms _ .

Yuri wraps one arm around Viktor's waist, holding him close, while his other hand sifts carefully through silver hair. He presses soft kisses to the side of Viktor's head and murmurs into his ear. "It's okay, Vitya, I've got you," like a mantra.

And once he hears those words from Yuri, it  _ is _ okay. Viktor trembles, and shivers, and finally begins to shake; he's not sure if it's all the emotions of the night hitting all at once, or a physical overload from an orgasm that easily outclassed any he's had in the past two years, or something else entirely. 

But Yuri's holding him, and so he can shake and shake, till his shoulders spasm with it, till the kisses he presses into Yuri's hair become blurry and imprecise, and yet, he won't - can't - shake apart.

Yuri continues to murmur gentle words into Viktor's ear as he holds the trembling body tighter to himself, stroking softly over Viktor's back and shoulders. He has no idea what he's doing, but this feels right, and he hopes it's helping.

Distantly, Viktor feels like this is backwards. He's the elder one. He's supposed to be leading. Guiding, or protecting, or something. He's not supposed to be trembling, looking to Yuri for reassurance.

...But maybe he is. Maybe. It wouldn't be entirely out of pattern. For months now, Viktor has been shaping his actions, his decisions, his thoughts, around Yuri. How to stop thinking about Yuri. How to keep his distance from Yuri. How not to give away his secret about Yuri. It became all-consuming.

And now it's all changed. All those fears invalidated, now that his secret's out. Of course he'd feel disoriented. 

Right?

Yuri reaches out and grabs the duvet, pulling it up and over them, even covering their heads, shutting out everything that isn't them. He leans his head against Viktor's and sighs softly, his heart aching for Viktor. How long had he been torturing himself over this? Granted, acting on any of it before now certainly would have been... unwise... but Yuri still hates the thought that Viktor has been suffering. And how lonely must he have been? He's unaware of the tears dripping down his cheeks.

In the dark under the duvet, it's just Yuri and Viktor and hot air. Slowly, slowly, Viktor stops shaking. He's not shed any tears; only the greatest fear - like earlier in the night - or anger will wring those from him. But this silent intensity has been a kind of crying, too.

Viktor presses his brow to Yuri's, cups his face in both hands. He doesn't get further than that, which was going to be kissing Yuri as sweetly as he's capable, because Yuri's cheeks are wet. Viktor freezes. "Yura? You're crying?"

"Am I?" And now that Viktor's mentioned it, he can feel the tell-tale itchiness and tightness of dried tears on his cheeks even as another one creeps down his face. 

"Yes," Viktor murmurs, and he rubs his thumb under Yuri's closed eye, brushing the tear tracks away.

"Oh," Yuri says. "It's that... Vitya, I lo-" His eyes go wide when he realizes what he's saying and he bites his lip to stop himself from finishing it. Not because he doesn't mean it, but because he's afraid of how Viktor will react. If he doesn't finish saying it, maybe they can pretend he never started.

Viktor's hand freezes in place. Just for a moment, one small space in which neither of them move. And then Viktor hums, soft, and resumes wiping away Yuri's sorrow. 

"I love you calling me that," he says, choosing his words intentionally. His tone affects casualness, but his cadence is deliberate and careful. " _ 'Vitya.' _ Don't stop calling me that until I tell you to, okay?"

He hopes Yuri understands what he's saying, between the words.

Yuri finally exhales and closes his eyes as he nods. He understands. And he's grateful to Viktor for not directly commenting on what he very nearly said, too. "Please don't ever tell me to stop."

"I might," Viktor teases, raking fingers into Yuri's hair to soothe and hold him. "Maybe someday I'll tell you to call me something even better."

Yuri smiles and lets his eyes slip shut as he snuggles into Viktor. "That would be okay." His limbs are starting to feel heavy and his thoughts are slowing down.

"I'm so glad I have your permission," Viktor says. He tucks his chin over Yuri's head and his knee over Yuri's hip, coiling possessively around him in full. It won't be a comfortable position to sleep in, and Viktor promises himself, closing his eyes to better listen to the swell and ebb of Yuri's breath as he sinks smoothly into sleep, and hopefully dreams, that he'll let go and stretch out properly in a moment.

Just in one more moment.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy birthday, yuri!
> 
> happy yuri's birthday, everyone. we hope you enjoyed this chapter. please let us know what you think, and we'll see you next time. :)
> 
> thank you for reading.  
> \--succulent & snep


	2. Boston: the morning after

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor wakes up from the most convincing dream of his life slowly, reluctantly, clinging to the shrouds of dream images as they fade away from his mind's eye. He was kissing Yuri, there was champagne - were they at a restaurant? They were, a fancy one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welcome back everyone! thanks for coming back for chapter two :)
> 
> _content warning:_ consensual underage sex with a significantly older partner.
> 
> the title of this fic series, and the title of this fic, are both pulled from the lyrics of Kill Hannah's "Believer," which is the theme song of this entire AU. 

*

Viktor wakes up from the most convincing dream of his life slowly, reluctantly, clinging to the shrouds of dream images as they fade away from his mind's eye. He was kissing Yuri, there was champagne - were they at a restaurant? They were, a fancy one.

Yuri looked incredible in his little waistcoat. The champagne was bright and crisp, filling Viktor with fizzy energy, and in the low twinkling candlelight Yuri's eyes glittered like the depthless eyes of the Sphinx. The waiter, at Viktor's elbow, was merely a voice.  _ What would the monsieur like for his main course tonight? _

Then the scene changed, and Yuri was naked on his back on the table, and Viktor stood before him, above him, at his foot. The candles, all knocked askew; the champagne flutes shattered on the cobblestone; Viktor, bent over his protege, sucking Yuri's cock until the tap ran dry. Viktor stood and lifted his mouth from Yuri's divine sex. Yuri fixed the waiter with a look of witheringly beautiful scorn, and Viktor swallowed.

"A refill, if you please?" 

Yuri moaned, and screamed Viktor's name. 

As Viktor wakes, he imagines for a moment he can taste dream-Yuri on his tongue. Hips sore, knees sore, everything sore: waking up with a hangover at 27 would never be fun, but it would surely suck less if he wasn't also into competitively breaking his body for medals.

Viktor sighs, and rolls forward, from laying on his left side to laying on his belly. Or, he tries to. But there's a body in the bed in front of him, a very firm very warm body pressed against him, so small that even its head is ducked under the duvet. It - they - are still peacefully, heavily, asleep.

Even as part of his brain begins running in circles, throwing out suggestions for who his apparent blackout-drunk banquet hookup could possibly have been, the rest of him feels the difference in his own heart, and he knows -  _ knows. _ The scenes from his dream break apart, shedding their surrealist exaggerations, reformulating themselves into the true memories they really are. Viktor's heart begins running in place in his throat, and he folds back the duvet to reveal the silk blond hair of the boy sleeping peacefully in front of him. His ass is tucked firmly against Viktor's naked morning wood, and Viktor bites the inside of his cheek to make sure he's really awake.

It was real.

*

Mila has let Yuri sleep as long as she can, but if she lets him be much longer they're going to miss breakfast. She slips out of her room, leaving Ilya snoring in her bed - she knows he won't take it personally when he wakes up alone - and snags Yuri's spare key card off the table on her way out. Once he'd gone senior he had put his foot down on Yakov having it and the two had compromised with letting Mila keep it.

Yuri's room is just a few doors down from hers, and by now she doesn't even bother knocking before she lets herself in. "Yuratchka, wake the fuck...up..." 

The words die on her lips as she registers the scene:  _ two _ body-shaped lumps under the covers on Yuri's bed... and distinctive silver hair spread across a pillow. 

Oh.  **OH!**

_ Oh, Yuratchka... I'm happy for you... but I really hope I'm not going to have to kill Viktor.  _

*

When Viktor hears the door click open, he thinks - for one wild second - that it's his imagination. Paranoia. The next-door room.

But then Mila starts talking, and then  _ stops _ talking, and Viktor's heart sinks into his stomach. His eyes are open, unseeing, and the only thing running through his head is hot, fiery panic.

_ She saw me.  _

_ She's seen me.  _

_ Oh, God, I wonder if I have time, while she runs to get the police, to kiss him one more time before they kill me. _

There's silence. She's not speaking, but she hasn't left either. Does she know he's awake? Is she waiting for him to fess up? (Does she have a baseball bat already in hand?) Viktor holds still. Completely still. Until one, much less histrionic, thought occurs to him. 

_ If he wakes up and sees her, I have no idea what will happen, but I know he'll try to defend me. I can't let him do that. _

Viktor picks his head up. In the bright, cold Boston sunlight, he blinks, gulps, and meets her gaze head-on. Under the covers, his hand slips, helplessly, miserably, to caress Yuri's shoulder.

Mila's reluctantly impressed that Viktor raises his head and has the courage to look her in the eye. He looks... not guilty, but terrified, and she supposes she can't blame him. Yuri's old enough to consent, so they haven't actually broken any laws - any Russian ones, at least - but this could definitely, easily, ruin Viktor's career. And that might actually be more satisfying than killing him, if push came to shove.

Mila pulls herself up straight to her full height and keeps her gaze locked with Viktor's. She really does love Viktor, but Yuri is her little brother and she would do anything for him. So where she's going to place her loyalty in this isn't even a question.

"If you break his heart," she hisses, "I'll make sure you're never welcome in any rink - even a mall rink - ever again. Do you understand?"

Viktor opens his mouth, an apology and a plea to take everything out on him, to spare Yuri, all tangled up together--

And then he registers what she's just said. He read her lips, clear as day, and her voice, though very quiet, was equally clear. Yet he's not actually comprehending it. His mouth hangs open for long moments, gawping, before he remembers to snap it shut. "What?"

Mila doesn't have time for his airheadedness, not right now. "I mean that I love him and I won't see him hurt,  _ especially _ not by you. So swear to me -  _ swear _ \- that this wasn't just a post-banquet fling, and I'll never breathe a word to anyone." She really wants to get out of here before Yuri wakes up, because  _ yikes,  _ awkward, but not before she hears this, straight from Viktor. "But tell me it  _ was _ , and I will make you pay."

Viktor feels like he's got whiplash, but not keeping up in this conversation is very clearly not an option. He swallows and nods, soberly, holding her gaze, ignoring the jackrabbit anxiety of his heart pounding in his ears. 

"...I love him." Hopefully that will explain what needs to be explained, because he can't think of anything else to say.

The tension stretches, and stretches. Mila's gaze bores into him, measuring his sincerity, judging him. Viktor feels his heart - his entire future - hanging in the balance.

And then, suddenly, Mila smiles. 

"Good! Then I'll see you boys for dinner tonight." Her voice is warm and genuine. She exhales, sounding deeply relieved somehow, flashes Viktor another warm smile, and backs out of the room, making sure the door closes quietly behind her. 

_ W-what the  _ **_fuck_ ** _? _

Viktor slumps back down onto his pillow, feeling shaken and confused and still quite scared. The apparent danger turned out to be no threat at all, but he doesn't trust it. He knows it's never that easy. There's always another trap waiting around the corner. Right? Now he's nearly vibrating out of his skin, overflowing with endorphins, a fight or flight response with nowhere to go.

Most confusingly, he's still hard. Harder, perhaps, now, which is-- unexpected. Is his exhibitionist streak that strong that it overpowers even the fear of danger befalling his Yura? That's... worrisome. 

Pensive, Viktor snuggles back down into the warm comfort of his embrace with Yuri, and tries to get back to sleep. Maybe he can redirect this energy into another dream, and burn it all off before Yuri wakes.

Something, though, maybe one of Viktor's or Mila's soft voices, maybe some other noise, has roused Yuri a bit from his deep sleep. He's still not entirely awake, but he's aware of a warm, firm body behind him in bed, and he presses back into it, snuggling in and sighing softly as he drifts on the edge of sleep and wakefulness.

Viktor hisses through his teeth, all hope of sleep gone. They fell asleep right after Yuri sucked him off last night, without even getting Viktor's underwear back onto him. So there's only one thin layer of fabric between the heat of Yuri's ass and that of Viktor's bare combination of morning wood and fear boner.

Yuri presses his ass back, wiggles against him, and Viktor curses silently. He rocks his hips forward, just the littlest bit, and hopes for Yuri's reaction.

Yuri lets out a soft little needy whimper and presses his hips back again as his eyes finally drift open and everything comes back to him. "Morning, Vitya," he murmurs.

Viktor pulls in a shallow breath, curling forward around Yuri. He presses his palm to Yuri's chest, roughly over his heart, and grinds his hips forward, breath juddering as his cock, pinned against Yuri's ass, throbs.

"Yura," he purrs, and brushes Yuri's hair aside so he can kiss the nape of his neck. "Good morning."

Yuri shivers hard and tips his head back to nip at the underside of Viktor's jaw. This is the best fucking wake up he's ever had. And there are too many clothes in the way. He reaches down and shoves his underwear down, kicking them down his legs and finally off his ankle, then grinds purposefully back against Viktor.

"Yura!" Viktor yelps, and the sound melts into a filthy groan, as his cock slots smoothly against the cleft of Yuri's ass. The friction is already incredible, almost unimaginably so, and Viktor's thoughts flicker back to his dream, to laying Yuri out on a cafe table somewhere in France for all to see as he claims him for his own. His cock bucks, letting him know what it thinks about being sidelined in this fantasy when there's a far better option right here at hand, and Viktor drags his focus back to the now, to the very hot and very real writhing pressure of Yuri grinding back onto his morning wood.

"F-fffuck, Yura. Do you know how long I've dreamed about doing this to you?"

"Do you know how long I've dreamed of you doing this to me?" Yuri responds. Viktor's cock sliding between his ass cheeks feels fucking amazing. He can't help the noises that escape his lips - and isn't trying to.

Viktor's throat is raw, and it puts gravel in his voice. He grabs Yuri's hip, big hand spread broad across its small peak of bone, and yanks Yuri back. His teeth scrape Yuri's skin at his nape as he breathes and kisses, bites and sucks.

"Tell me. Tell me how you've imagined it."

"God, this is so much  _ better _ than I ever imagined." Which is probably not the sexiest thing he could have said, but it's the truth. He's achingly hard, so he reaches down to wrap his fingers around his own length.

"Let me," Viktor rasps, and slides his hand down Yuri's body. 

Covering Yuri's hand with his own, he curls his fingers more gently than Yuri's are. He moves his hand, a slow gentle pull up Yuri's length, and grinds his hips in shallow, rocking thrusts against his ass. It's far from penetration, not even intercrural, and Viktor knows he could be making this so much better, for both of them, with some focus and a brief break apart to grab lube. He doesn't move. "My Yura."

"Yours, for as long as you'll have me," Yuri answers breathlessly as he rocks back against Viktor's cock and then forward into his hand.

It's a lot, this breathless devotion, and in the wake of Mila's unplanned visitation -- Viktor reminds himself, he's got to fill Yuri in before he and Mila see each other again -- and Viktor's own very honest, very unplanned confession, the air around them is full of dry tinder, just waiting for a spark. 

Or maybe that's the air in his head, Viktor thinks, watching Yuri move. From this angle, Viktor is transfixed with watching the back planes of Yuri's jaw, the corner of his mouth as his lips flex, purse, and finally hang open around raw, heavily drawn breath. He's exquisite, and he's all Viktor's, to keep or to ruin as he pleases.

_ Why would I ever want to get rid of you? _

"Lift your thigh," Viktor tells him. He lays his cock between Yuri's thighs, yanking him bodily closer by the hips to get their bodies properly aligned. Viktor holds his palm before Yuri's mouth, thumb briefly hooking in past his lower lip, pressing the front of his tongue. Then, an open palm, to receive, and a softly spoken request. "Spit."

Yuri lets himself be manipulated, trusting that Viktor knows what he's doing. His mouth has suddenly gone dry, though, so it takes a moment to work up enough saliva to spit into Viktor's waiting hand.

He's hot and breathing hard, and there's a light sheen of sweat covering his body, and his head is spinning just slightly. This is all so much more than he ever imagined or dreamed. For a moment, none of it seems real.

It's not ideal, not as much as a packet of lube could supply, but when Viktor adds his to Yuri's, there's just enough spit to work with. He brings Yuri's leg back down, closing his thighs around Viktor's cock, and rolls his hips forward. If he was cut, this wouldn't work, but blessedly he's not, and he strokes smoothly into the hot pressure of Yuri's body, tucked just under his ass. Viktor's cockhead nudges Yuri's balls, and then he's pulling back, steady and deliberate, lining up another thrust. 

Viktor can't make these very long thrusts, nor can he be rough, but this deliberate, grinding union, the promise of fucks to come, is in itself also still a thing of power. Every time Viktor's hips come to rest against the tight curve of Yuri's ass, and he's chest to back with the boy of his dreams, trembling in his arms, Viktor sees sparks. It's so much closer than he'd ever, ever hoped to be, and so much more than he'd been willing to allow himself even just one day ago. 

One-day-ago-Viktor, Viktor decides, was a moron.

_...If this feels this fucking good, how will it feel when Viktor is buried inside? _ It's the clearest conscious thought Yuri has. He can tell it won't be long before he loses himself completely to this sensation.

Viktor didn't, stupidly, expect Yuri to be so close to coming from just this much. He should have; Yuri is perfect in every other way, so it makes sense he would be in this way, too. Much as he's enjoying their close contact, Yuri's back and shoulders shivering against Viktor's chest every time they draw breath, Viktor wants to see him, too. So he levers himself back at the waist and pushes Yuri forward into a soft curl, bending their bodies gently apart like a wishbone, joined at their hips. From this angle he can better appreciate Yuri's shivering, trembling body, the sweat slicking his skin and the soft, lost noises that fall from his lax pink lips. 

Viktor reaches for him, beginning at the crown of his head, the tangled golden halo spread around and beneath his head on the pillow. He traces gentle, light fingertip trails down Yuri's neck, out across the breadth of his shoulders, and then splays his hand, four fingers and a thumb wrapping half the width of Yuri's torso. Viktor brings his touch to rest low on Yuri's hip, rubbing idly with his thumb, and indulging himself in riding a particularly intense crest of sensation. Yuri's thighs feel tighter from this angle, and Viktor bites his own lip. He rakes his fingernails up Yuri's back, feather light.

"Does it feel good, Yura?"

Yuri hums and purrs as Viktor's fingers skim and rub across his skin. As light as it is, it's still a grounding, soothing touch and Yuri is grateful for it. He absolutely loves the feeling of Viktor's thumb rubbing over his hip bone. But then - then there are fingernails running up his back and Yuri's back arches, his cock jumping in Viktor's hand. "Fuck. Do that again," he gasps.

Viktor reacts, too, as Yuri's thighs spasm tight around his cock and Yuri breaks free of his wordless state of zen. His voice is sudden, breathless but no less of a command because of that, and Viktor rushes to obey. 

"Like this?" he asks. Feather-light, barely even touching the skin, Viktor drags his fingernails up Yuri's spine, arched to give him just the sharp edges of the nails.

That's a bit better, but still not enough. "Harder," Yuri pants, twisting his fingers into the sheets so hard it hurts. Part of him misses having so much skin-to-skin contact with Viktor, but this is worth it.

Viktor groans, hips thudding against Yuri's ass. "I'll hurt you," he protests, wringing the words out, out of his whole chest. His hand on Yuri's back twitches, nails glancing off his skin.

"Kinda the point," Yuri almost manages to growl. "Please, Vitya..." Once more, he's so fucking close, from so very little. It's Viktor's touch that does it. 

Viktor gasps, and though he knows he'll immediately regret it, rakes Yuri's back red with his nails. He angles his hips up, and his cockhead nudges Yuri's perineum on the in-stroke. "Yura--"

Yuri arches his back and cries out as the combination of fire on his back, the pressure on his perineum, and then his name tumbling from Viktor's lips finally push him over the edge. He comes hard, spurting over Viktor's hand and clamping his thighs tight around Viktor's cock.

Viktor cries out, caught off guard, and curls forward, enveloping Yuri in his presence. One hand strokes Yuri through it; his other arm wraps across Yuri's chest and holds them together, hugging Yuri to him. His hips rest tight against Yuri's ass. They're pressed almost as close, like this, as they'd be if Viktor were truly inside of Yuri in this moment; Viktor presses kisses into Yuri's neck and shoulder, cock trapped hard and throbbing and unimportant between Yuri's strong thighs, while Yuri gasps through his climax, trembling. 

"So beautiful," Viktor murmurs, his voice thick. "So, so beautiful."

Yuri absolutely loves being held close like this, their bodies fitting together like they were made for it. Viktor's voice brings him back to himself a bit and he tightens his thighs, squeezing Viktor's cock. "You haven't..."

Viktor's breath chokes in his mouth, and he shudders softly as Yuri squeezes his cock punishingly tight. It should hurt; it really,  _ really _ doesn't. 

"Not yet," he manages, and lifts his come-sticky hand up to his own mouth. Viktor's arm is wrapped around Yuri, holding him in place, and his chin is hooked over Yuri's shoulder, and Viktor sucks his fingers into his mouth, tongue and lips shamelessly thorough as he licks his hand clean of every bit of Yuri's come. His heart is beating like a thunderstorm in his chest as he reaches down again, swipes more of Yuri's release off his belly and licks his fingers clean. "Yura, Yura," he murmurs, kissing the slope of Yuri's shoulder. "You're unfair."

Yuri's eyes widen as Viktor licks his hand clean. He was definitely not expecting that and he can't quite decide if it's ridiculously hot, or a little gross, or maybe a bit of both. "How am I unfair?"

"You're so good," Viktor whines. He unfolds them, extricating his cock from Yuri's thighs and then turning him in his arms, until they're facing each other. Yuri is held snug in Viktor's arms and Viktor's cock rests heavy against Yuri's sticky belly, and Viktor can clearly meet, for the first time this morning, Yuri's arresting green gaze. His gaze flicks down, focusing on Yuri's mouth, and then back.

"I don't know how I coped, all this time. I don't know how I'm expected to ever cope again. How am I going to look at you out there and not immediately kiss you?"

"Such a drama queen," Yuri says affectionately, although he'd be lying if he said he hadn't had more or less the same thought. How the fuck is he supposed to go back to ignoring Viktor's presence when they're in public? "You'll just have to make up for it when we are alone."

"I will," Viktor promises. It's an awful promise, a stupid one, because Viktor has no idea what it's going to entail. What he'll feel driven to do - what he will do. Whether it's even possible to make up for the dissonance that will very probably drive them both mad. But he makes it anyway, because he has to, because Yuri wants to hear it, maybe even needs to. So Viktor's going to figure out how to make it real.

They'll both have to live in two worlds, that's all. Both with one foot in each, keeping their balance as best as they can.

A thought swims to the fore of Viktor's mind, and as it comes into focus he recognizes it. Oh, right, he'd almost forgotten. Hmm.

"There's something I need to tell you," Viktor says, conversational, as he tests out this most delicate caress on Yuri's lower back. "It's not bad, I don't think, but we'll have to decide together how we should face it."

"We'll figure it out, Vitya. Together." Yuri smiles and leans in to kiss Viktor softly, brushing Viktor's fringe back from his eyes. 

Viktor places one hand on the small of Yuri's back, stroking not with his palm this time but butterfly-light caresses of his fingertips. Is it a sensitive spot for Yuri all the time, or just in the heat of things? Viktor feels like he should know more about this, for research purposes. He'd hate to wrap his arm around Yuri on a podium and accidentally make his knees go out.

Yuri inhales sharply as his hips involuntarily tilt forward and his spent cock twitches. And now he's missed the next part of whatever it was Viktor was saying. "If you want me to listen you can't distract me," he complains.

"I see," Viktor chuckles, and he's not paying much attention to their conversation anymore. Instead he's distracted by repeating the caress, gaze hungry, to see if Yuri's reaction will grow, or diminish, or stay the same. "I'll have to be careful the next time we're on a podium together, won't I?"

Yuri's hips twitch with every finger stroke, the sensation neither building nor waning, keeping him ever so slightly on edge. "Do that to me on a podium and I'll cut you off for a month," he growls. It's an empty threat and they both know it.

Viktor laughs, curling his fingers to add a little more pressure. Yuri's little movements are winding tension through Viktor's spine, pulling on his nerves by degrees, and Viktor flashes a languid smirk because he's not afraid to let Yuri see the effect he's having on him. "I'd like to see you try."

Yuri rolls his eyes at Viktor. He should be annoyed by Viktor exploiting his knowledge of that spot, but he can see - and feel - the effect his movements are having on Viktor. This time he lets the twitch develop into a full roll of his hips and leans up to kiss Viktor sweetly.

Still mostly hard and pressed between their bellies, Viktor's cock very much likes the rolling pressure and heat Yuri's giving it. And the little voice in the back of Viktor's head, which tells him he had something important to talk to Yuri about, and that they really can't spend all day in bed, and there was something else he needed to remember to take care of upon waking...

That little voice is having a very hard time being heard over the warm, honeyed voice of his libido, which wants to see what Yuri's orgasm face looks like straight on, when he's pinned under Viktor's gaze and his weight.

"Yura," Viktor murmurs, against Yuri's sweet lips, before pushing them open with his tongue and slipping inside.

Yuri moans softly into Viktor's mouth as the kiss turns filthy and continues to roll his hips. He's very much aware that Viktor hasn't come yet this morning and he'd very much like to remedy that. "You like this?" He breaks the kiss and bites at Viktor's lower lip before ducking his head to mouth at Viktor's neck, giving an occasional nip.

Viktor nods, breath shaking as it leaves his lips. "I do, Yura, I do." His Yuri, lithe and writhing like this - to say this is an upgrade from the majority of Viktor's fantasies, which usually were only so daring as to brazenly watch Yuri move, from a distance, without touching, would be a significant understatement.

This is so far beyond anything Yuri has ever done with anyone before, and he's trying very hard to not think about that or else he'll lose his confidence and there's time for that later. But he is sure that Viktor is humoring him to an extent, although not entirely. He's also sure that if he was doing something Viktor truly didn't like, he'd let him know. So he continues on the path they've set, rolling his hips and moving against Viktor, leaving little bites all along his neck and clavicle.

But if Viktor knew what Yuri was thinking, he'd be  _ horrified _ . Horrified, that Yuri could be so dense. 

Viktor's shaking, trembling, and all Yuri's doing is rolling his body smoothly against Viktor's, kissing and nibbling his neck and throat. Such simple actions, but they're from Yuri, and therefore, they cut away at Viktor's composure in huge strokes.

"You-- you know, Yura, I don't w-want you to. Feel. Obligated," Viktor manages. He should make sure Yuri knows that just because Viktor's hard, that doesn't mean Yuri owes him anything. Just because Viktor's gotten Yuri off, that doesn't mean he owes Viktor anything. And just beca--

He jerks forward, nails digging into the small of Yuri's back, roughly increasing the friction that slides between them.

"G-god," Viktor gasps.

"Shut up," Yuri growls as he sucks a bruise onto Viktor's skin. Viktor's nails dig into his back and his breath catches, his hips pushing forward hard. He grabs Viktor's ass with one hand and squeezes... something he's been wanting to do for a  _ very _ long time.

Viktor growls, clenching his ass, digging his toes against the bed. He throws one thigh over Yuri's, rolling them inexpertly together, to let gravity and his own body weight assist him as he ruts down against the tight, hard plane of Yuri's stomach, heavy and rough and hungry.

"Fuck, Yura--"

He doesn't last long after that point.

Yuri reaches up with one hand to brush Viktor's fringe back so that he has a clear view of Viktor's face as he orgasms. "You're so beautiful, Vitya. My Vitya." And holy shit. Holy.  _ Shit. _ It hadn't really sunk in until just now that yes, he's Viktor's now, but that means that Viktor is also his.

Slumped heavy and limp on top of Yuri, Viktor groans softly, tipping his head into Yuri's touch, eyes fluttering and unfocused as his climax lingers. And when Yuri says his name like that - claims him by name like that - Viktor's cock bucks weakly between them, willing to spend more onto Yuri's skin, if Viktor had it left to give.

Yuri wraps his arms around Viktor and holds him tight, scattering light kisses across his shoulder and stroking gently up and down his back.

The moment that Viktor regains actual consciousness is impossible to miss, because along with consciousness comes, finally, the little voice in the back of his head that reminds him of the very important thing he's forgotten. Tension zips into his frame, his eyes open, and he levers himself off of Yuri, dismayed. "Yura! Oh, hell, did I squash you? Your  _ knee. _ "

"Shh, Vitya, it's okay." But Viktor doesn't seem to be hearing him.  _ "Viktor." _ He pauses until Viktor stops and calms. "You didn't squash me, I'm tougher than that."

Viktor hears Yuri, alright, but if Yuri's going to practice selective hearing, then so will Viktor. "Yura," he says, and his tone has shifted dramatically, from distressed to patiently exasperated. "I'm going out to the ice machine, unless you happened to bring any snap-activated cold packs with you when you packed."

"Can I at least take a shower first?" He looks down at his stomach and wrinkles his nose at the stickiness. "Let me take a shower and then I promise I'll let you fuss over my knee all you want."

Viktor nods, satisfied. "Deal." He rolls onto his back, reaching toward the far side of the bed, where a box of tissues sits on the nightstand. Viktor pulls out a small handful and rolls back over. "This will just get even worse to deal with under the spray if we leave it." He wipes away most of the mess with firm, thorough swipes. Only once Yuri's been cleaned off as well as he can be with cheap hotel tissues does Viktor ball up the remaining tissue and scrub at his own belly, frowning mildly.

"It's been years since I did that."

Yuri sits up and swings his legs off the side of the bed. "Years since you did what?" He stands up and starts to make his way to the chair where the suitcase with his clothes sits, but with his first step a sharp pain shoots through his knee and he gasps. Fuck. He maybe should have let Viktor ice it and taken an anti-inflammatory last night after all. As it is, he's probably going to have to sit on the floor of the shower.

As soon as Yuri wobbles, before the gasp is even past his lips, Viktor's tensed, ready to leap up, and only a sudden and sharp reminder to himself -  _ wait _ \- keeps him from leaping to Yuri's side. If he'd collapsed, Viktor would have been at his side in a half second. But as it is, Yuri remains standing, though visibly pained, and Viktor exhales through his teeth, hiding it in a disaffected sigh.

"Came just from rutting like that. Normally it takes quite a bit more focused attention, but..." He smiles. "With proper inspiration, apparently, anything can happen."

Yuri, blushing, can't think of a single thing to say, so he focuses on finding something to wear.

Viktor stretches as he stands. As he dresses in enough clothes to be decent while walking down the hall for ice, Viktor starts regretting a few of his own wellness-related snap decisions from the night previous. What kind of idiot was he, sleeping curled up like that? He'll be a mess at practice today.

Viktor glances over his shoulder at Yuri. He's bent forward, digging through his suitcase, and Viktor's gaze lingers on the naked flex of his shoulders and spine as he moves.

Oh, right. The kind of idiot who got to be in bed with  _ that. _

Viktor grabs the ice bucket and a keycard from the table, and considers his dress shoes for a moment before deciding to just go barefoot. 

"I'll be back in a minute, Yura. Alright?"

The track pants Yuri wants are, of course, buried at the very bottom of his suitcase and by the time he's uncovered them it looks like a clothing bomb has exploded in the area. He grabs his favorite, worn-out t-shirt and limps his way to the bathroom as Viktor grabs the ice bucket. "'Kay. I'll be out in a few."

Viktor's not wearing a watch, he doesn't have his cell phone, and he didn't check the clock before he left the hotel room. So as he walks the quiet hallway, bare feet padding on the surprisingly plush carpet, it occurs to him that he doesn't have a clue what time it is. By the light of the windows, it's anywhere between six and eleven am; by his internal clock, which is still messed up from jet lag but, at the least, is a reliable sort of offset, he calculates that it might be closer to nine or ten.  _ Especially since if I got that little sleep, after that much emotion, I'd be feeling a lot worse, _ he reasons.

Sleep... Viktor runs a palm over his face, tense, as he remembers the early morning visitor who had found him in bed with Yuri. 

"Fuck."

Mila, along with most of the rest of the skaters, was probably still at the hotel's catered breakfast buffet. She, and many others, will be coming back up to their hotel rooms afterward, and Viktor's stomach does a little flip as he imagines encountering one of them. There's no version of that scenario that ends up well; as good at bullshitting as Viktor is, even he can't explain away his disheveled appearance, wearing last night's suit back to Yuri's room. That doesn't look good from any angle.

Once more, Viktor faces the blunt, chilling reality of what he's committed himself to. In the course of one night, Yuri has gone from friend and rinkmate to lover and - well, lover, since they haven't discussed anything more formal.  _ Lover and secret, _ Viktor amends, burying his hand deep into the ice bin to scoop out the big, fused-together rocks of ice that always form near the bottom of these things. Ignoring the stinging in his fingertips, Viktor wrenches his prize free, and plunks it into his bucket. It barely fits, and Viktor presses his lips together, satisfied. Larger cubes of ice melt slower, and give sharper cold. This will serve as a good substitute for the soft packs usually used in therapeutic icing. They can fetch better supplies later, once Yuri's told anyone but Viktor that he's injured. 

For now, Viktor turns back toward Yuri's hotel room with his head full of more worries than solutions. He walks past Yuri's door, down six or seven more to his own room, and slips in as quietly as he can. Chris and his boundless curiosity isn't here, thank god, and Viktor quickly collects a few of his things, a change of clothes and shoes, and his razor. Then it's back to Yuri's door, where he fumbles the key at the lock twice before succeeding.

"Yura, I'm back~"

*

Yuri sets his clothes on the sink counter, then sits on the closed lid of the toilet to fiddle with the shower taps. Once he's got it nice and hot, he shimmies out of his underwear and grabs his shampoo, conditioner, and body wash bottles off the ledge before settling himself in on the floor of the shower. This is far from ideal, but at least he's not putting weight on his knee.

He sits under the spray for a long time, not washing anything, just... thinking. So much has happened in the last twelve-ish hours, and he'll admit that he still hasn't really processed it all, or thought about how they're actually going to make it work going forward. And God, if word ever got out it would end Viktor's career. Yuri would probably be painted as a victim, even though this is as much his doing as it is Viktor's. And what the fuck is he doing risking Viktor's career for his own selfish reasons?

Viktor drops his things in a pile on the foot of the bed and goes to the bathroom door. He taps it, raising his voice to be heard through the door and the sound of the water. "Yura, you okay? You didn't fall, did you?"

Viktor's knock on the door shakes Yuri out of his head just a little bit. "No," he answers as he reaches for his body wash and shower pouf.

"Can I come in? Just to wash my face."

Yuri snorts softly. All the things they've done together last night and this morning and Viktor is wondering if it's okay to come in while he's in the shower? "Sure."

He stretches his right leg out to wash it and carefully avoids his knee. Maybe if it's fucked up enough he won't be able to skate anymore and then there won't be as many potential problems with this... whatever this is... with Viktor. 

_ Jesus Christ, Plisetsky, get a fucking grip. _ The idea of living without skating doesn't even bear thinking about, and besides, as painful as it is, his knee injury is hardly career-threatening.

"I found a really good rock in the ice maker," Viktor says, turning on the tap a little bit, testing the temperature. "I can round it out a bit, so we can put it under your knee and get at the tendons. It'll last for a while." Viktor bends to the basin, cupping his hands under the water, splashing it on his face. It doesn't do much for the tightness around his eyes, or the tension in his scalp, but it settles his nerves.

"I grabbed tape from my room, too. We can wrap it. And, we still need to talk," he adds, chuckling. "And no distracting ourselves this time."

Viktor's light mood is so at odds with Yuri's darker mood that he's not even sure how to respond. "Thanks," he manages to get out as he trades out his body wash for shampoo.

Once he's thoroughly rinsed and ready to get out of shower he realizes that there's a problem. He can't get himself up without using his knee. Great. "Vitya? I'm uhm. Kinda... stuck."

"Stuck? Oh. Oh!" Viktor pushes the shower stall open, turns off the tap, and reaches down for Yuri with both arms and a sympathetic smile. "Come here, I've got you."

"So embarrassing," Yuri mutters as Viktor carefully pulls him to his feet. 

"No," Viktor reassures him breezily. "We've all been there."

(Viktor's not going to force Yuri to linger in his arms, but he did enjoy, for the brief moment it lasted, the completely unsexy, mundane, trust-filled experience of hauling Yuri's wet body upright, vulnerable and leaning against Viktor, until he gained his footing. Viktor's suit is all wet now, and there's parts that won't recover from that, and it was worth it.)

Yuri sets about drying himself off, trying to keep weight off his leg while doing so, then pulls his underwear and pants on before dealing with his hair. Viktor is looking remarkably relaxed as he goes about his morning routine and Yuri tries to let that reassure him.

Viktor takes his turn in the shower, brisk and brief, shaves, and gets dressed in the clothes he brought from his room, sweats and a performance shirt, before leaving the bathroom. His hair he leaves to air dry, a luxury he still appreciates and savors even so many years after the big chop after the end of his junior career. That ponytail had been a nightmare to care for. Now he watches Yuri and his careful attention to his own hair and smiles. So much alike, the two of them. Hopefully, alike enough to make this work.

Viktor pulls down the stack of artistically folded towels from the shelf in the bathroom, settles on the middle of the bed, and begins experimenting with wrapping the towels around his big hunk of ice, looking for a layering combination that will let the right amount of cold through.

"I really should have insisted on taking care of you better last night," he says, sighing. "I'll get this set up and then I'll get you some painkillers."

Once his hair is sufficiently Dealt With, Yuri pulls his shirt on and pads back into the bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed while Viktor fusses with the ice. "Don't blame yourself. You tried, and I was too carried away with other things. It's my knee, and I know better." He is not going to let Viktor take the blame for his own bad decisions.

Once Viktor has things situated to his satisfaction Yuri scoots over on the bed and pulls the leg of his pants up before tucking the ice chunk under the back of his knee. The cold is sharp, but it brings instant relief and Yuri groans softly, letting his head fall back against the pillows. "Thanks, Vitya."

Sitting at Yuri's knee, holding the ice, shifting Yuri's pants leg and supporting his calf, Viktor smiles with perfect ease. Something in his chest unknotted just now, watching relief come over Yuri so clearly.

"You're very welcome, Yura."

Some of Yuri's anxiety dissipates with Viktor's gentle treatment of him. He's always been fiercely independent... but it  _ does _ feel nice to let Viktor help him.

"Hey, what did you want to talk to me about?"

"Ah. Yes." Viktor swallows, mulling over his options. There's the direct diplomatic route, the oblique lead-in, the blunt infodump... He sighs, recognizing his own stalling for what it is.

"Mila let herself into the room this morning before you were awake. To get you for breakfast. She saw me." He grimaces. "Us."

He rushes to add on, to cushion the blow. "She wasn't mad, though, I don't think? I mean, I'm still alive..."

"Oh, yeah, I forgot she would come get me for breakfast." He can't help smiling just a bit. "She's known about how I feel about you for awhile. She might worry, but I don't think she's mad." The small smile grows to a grin. "And it's payback for the times I've walked in on her and god knows who."

"Pay- payback?" Viktor boggles. "What... no, wait, nevermind. That's not important." He's completely at a loss by this point, unable to make sense of how this conversation is going. Yuri's not even stressed about this, much less upset or alarmed?

"Well...I know she didn't know how  _ I _ felt. I didn't tell... anyone." Viktor frowns, turning his pensive attention inward. 

"For that matter, I'm still not sure who..."

Suddenly, belatedly, Yuri realizes how stressed Viktor must have been by the encounter. He reaches out for Viktor's hand and tangles their fingers together. "I'm sorry, Vitya. I shouldn't have made light of this. It's just that if there's one person in the world I trust to keep our secret for us, it's Mila, okay?"

"I'm glad you trust her," Viktor says, covering Yuri's hand with his own. He doesn't mean for his tone to come out so critical, but it does, and he winces. "It's not that I don't trust her, specifically," he continues. "It's that, even though we've been rinkmates for so long, I don't know her well enough to know whether I trust her with something like  _ this _ . I trust you, and..."

Viktor sighs, sitting back, and rakes his bangs out of his face with one hand. "I suppose I have to trust her now, don't I?"

"Just... trust  _ me, _ yeah?" Yuri squeezes Viktor's hand. "Mila... Mila's always been there for me. When I first came to Yakov's I used to get teased by some of the other boys. They'd pick on me, call me a girl, all that great stuff. One day Mila happened to see one of the bigger boys corner me and bully me. You know her big brothers are both hockey players? She body checked that kid so hard he flew about halfway across the ice. There was no getting rid of her after that. We tell each other everything. We trust each other, okay? I know... things... about her that she trusts me not to tell."

Viktor listens. Yuri's so confident, so certain, and once more Viktor's struck by how very capable Yuri is of navigating certain emotional waters, the kinds that leave Viktor spinning and adrift.

_ Well, you're emotionally stunted and narcissistic, and he's sixteen,  _ his conscience reminds him helpfully. _ So maybe you  _ **_are_ ** _ appropriately aged for him. ...He might be dating down a bit, actually. _

Viktor rolls his eyes - at himself - and exhales. He sticks his bottom lip out, ruffling his bangs, and hopes his wry exasperation is clear enough that Yuri doesn't misunderstand.

"I'm glad she was there for you. I'm sorry I'm so suspicious, Yura, it's just that I'm not used to  _ anyone _ knowing my secret. And now not just you, but she knows too, and it all feels..."

Viktor looks down, at his hands, at the ice under Yuri's knee. Anything but Yuri's eyes. "It feels like it's all spinning out of my hands already. And that terrifies me. Already, the world is mocking my selfishness."

Yuri feels a knot forming in his stomach. He's seen Viktor down before, of course, but he's never heard him sound so vulnerable and he's not sure how to handle it. Not sure what to say. And he hates the thought that it's because of him. He sighs and looks down at his knee, chewing at his bottom lip. "I've been selfish, too," he says, quietly. "I just  _ wanted _ you. I never stopped to think what it would mean for you. Maybe we should just... not..." He can't bring himself to finish the thought out loud.

Viktor's hand tightens like a vise on Yuri's before he can even finish that sentence. There's weight on his shoulders, lead in his spine, but despite the burden on himself, Viktor is firm and unshaken as he looks up, demands Yuri's attention, and holds his gaze once he's got it.

"Yura. No, don't say that. Listen to me, please? Yura, look at me. Listen."

Yuri slowly drags his gaze up from his busted knee to meet Viktor's eyes.

"I..." Viktor wets his lips. Swallows. There's no one except them here in this room. Yesterday they moved so far past the boundaries of their relationship as defined up to this point that those boundaries fell out of view entirely, lost to the horizon. Ahead of them, uncharted territory.

"I don't know if I made a mistake last night. A lot of people would say yes. Maybe most. But I made a decision, and we're here now because of it. And whether or not it was a mistake…"

"I don't regret it, and I wouldn't take it back."

Saying the words feels scary. In this cool bright morning light, impulse and the pull of hormonal intoxication seem like alien concepts. Irrelevant. And so to say -  _ I wouldn't take it back _ \- well, it feels different right now, out loud, than it did last night, inside his head. Viktor waits for his gut to twist, to reject, to recoil.

It doesn't.

Relieved and encouraged, he continues.

"If it was a mistake, it was mine. And, what measures a mistake anyway? Right? I don't regret what I gained from it."

Yuri nods and looks back down at their joined hands. "I don't regret it, either, I just... I don't want things to go wrong for you because of it. I hate that we'll have to keep it a secret, but I know we will. And if I thought for a minute that Mila was a threat..." He's not actually sure what he'd do.

Viktor smiles, soft. Yuri's willingness to fight, fight, fight - anything and anyone - is often endearing to him, and rarely moreso than now, as he attempts to convince himself he'd fight his closest friend for the sake of his - his - well, his whatever Viktor counts as. The intent behind it, the desire, is sweet, and it warms Viktor's heart. The execution would never follow through, though, and Viktor thinks they both know that.

"We will, yes. It's not about legality - well, not until we speak to our American friends, I think they've got different ideas over here - but regardless. That isn't... That isn't what people would see. Will see. It's not that you're too young to be in  _ any _ relationship, but I'm... And you know I myself... well..."

Viktor pauses, shakes his head. "Everyone who loves you, Yura, wants the best for you. Not many would disagree that I'm  _ not _ that." He laughs, and it's hollow.

"And as in many other things, I have serious doubts about your taste in men."

Yuri hates the sound of that empty laugh more than almost anything. "Yeah, well, I'm tired of being told what to do. I know I don't actually have much control over my skating, but I'm not going to let anyone tell me what to do in my private life, even if they do care about me."

He feels so helpless and so very, very young, and more than anything else he wants Viktor to be happy again.

"And fuck you, my taste in everything is fucking superb." He sticks his tongue out at Viktor, knowing full well he's being juvenile, but hoping to at least get a real smile out of him.

Viktor laughs and leans forward to kiss that insolence off Yuri's mouth. When he settles back again, it's with a little less hollowness in his eyes.

"Yura, leopard print has the reputation it does for a reason. Leopard print belongs on leopards."

"What if I'm secretly actually a snow leopard?" The moment he's said it, his stomach  _ growls. _ He bursts out laughing. He tries to stop, but the more he tries the harder he laughs. He's aware that it might be taking on a slightly hysterical tone but he just. can't. stop. He doubles over and laughs until his abs hurt and there are tears streaming down his cheeks and he can't fucking breathe.

Eventually -  _ eventually _ \- Yuri does manage to get himself under control again, and he collapses back against the pillows, still slightly gasping for breath.

"Are you...alright?" Yuri's mirth is infectious, so Viktor's chuckling softly, even though he can't for the life of him understand what was so funny about 'snow leopard.' Maybe because they're Russian and it's cold there? 

"Sorry, sorry." Yuri waves his hands in front of his eyes as if to fan away the residual tears. "I'm fine. Just... _ snow leopard _ and then my stomach  _ growled. _ It's dumb." He knows it was really just a valve releasing all the emotions of the past couple of hours.

Viktor frowns. Then, as he finally figures out the joke, his whole face lights up and his smile lifts up so far that it curves like a heart. "Ohhh! It  _ is _ dumb," he says, sounding utterly delighted.

"I told you it was dumb," Yuri grouses, as if he has to defend himself.

"No, no, it's charming," Viktor insists.

"...Sure." Yuri isn't convinced. "Anyway, we should order breakfast up. I think we missed the catered one and I don't want to leave this room just yet."

As Yuri appears sufficiently mollified, Viktor blinks at his little lover with an affably bemused expression. "That's a good plan."

"Grab the menu and get up here."

Viktor stretches out to grab the menu off the table by the bed and then settles up at the head of the bed next to Yuri. "Okay. Let's order two of everything?"

Yuri leans against Viktor and sighs softly as his head settles on Viktor's shoulder. His instinct is to reply to Viktor's comment with a joke at Katsudon's expense, but he actually makes an effort to bite his tongue. "We don't even need one of everything. Just get me the grapefruit segments and low fat Greek yogurt. I know the season's over, but we still have to squeeze into show costumes."

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so how about that! what did you think? questions, speculation, keymashes...we wanna hear it all! put it in the comments below~
> 
> we'll see you soon for chapter 3. we are snep and succulent, and we thank you for reading.


	3. BOS ✈️ JFK ✈️ SVO ✈️ LED

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Under normal circumstances, Yuri doesn't mind being the center of attention. Enjoys it, even. But not now, not like this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few notes on translation and languages:
> 
> For international athletes, language is like a Swiss army knife, and code-switching is part of almost every conversation between international friends. While this fic is written, with small exception, in English, much of the conversation within it is not occurring in English. 
> 
> Otabek is fluent in Russian, therefore, there's no language barrier between himself and Yuri. Yuri, Viktor, Mila, and Otabek, as well as Yakov and Lilia and soforth, all speak exclusively Russian when in conversation with each other. 
> 
> When speaking to Yuuri or other non-Russians, they use English or very simple Russian, as Yuuri is learning Russian. 
> 
> Yuuri speaks English to basically everyone, as no one else is fluent in Japanese. (Viktor's working on it, but he's not far enough to be conversational yet.)
> 
> Stephane, Chris, and Viktor are fluent in French, and use a combination of French and English when conversing with each other. Stephane and Chris also both know High German, and Viktor knows some of it as well, so this gets mixed in too. A conversation between any two of these three is likely to be quite indistinguishable to anyone else.
> 
> Stephane, Chris, and JJ can understand each other's French... mostly, since JJ's French is Quebecois dialect and has some quirks unique to that region. They generally use English because it's easier. 
> 
> Yuri, Otabek, and Yuuri do not know French or German.
> 
> In addition to Russian and English, Otabek is fluent in Kazakh, which, similar to Yuuri's Japanese, isn't spoken by anyone else in the main cast.
> 
> In a mixed conversation, everyone defaults to English for politeness's sake.
> 
> Anything written in English, but in Russian/Japanese quotation marks (« ») means that it's being spoken in either Russian or Japanese, depending on the speaker.
> 
> When dialogue is presented in this fic in a language other than English, it's meant to indicate that the character listening does not understand the language spoken. In most cases, the character can still react without waiting for a translation, and in those cases, the reader (you!) also doesn't need to understand what was spoken. Translations for dialogue presented in this way are provided in the footnotes for curiosity's sake.
> 
> For anything that's presented in a non-English language which needs to be understood for the reader to understand the scene, in-text translations are provided - in some cases by the character translating for themself, and in other cases within the narration. Basically, you won't need to check the footnotes right away in any case - either we'll be giving you the translation immediately, or it isn't necessary.
> 
> And as a note on the translations: Google Translate is our friend, and it tries its best. Please turn a kind eye to any mistakes we make, or offer revisions if you're fluent and wouldn't mind helping us out :-)

Yuri's day had started with his alarm going off at 6.30 am. Then again at 6.40, 6.50, and - one final time - again at 7 am. His travel day routine is oddly comforting and keeps him from thinking too much about what's happened over the last couple of days. Once they get to Logan, though, and settle in to wait for the first leg of their journey, it begins to dawn on him just how much things have changed. And just how hard it's going to be pretending they haven't.

The relatively short flight to JFK is uneventful and relatively boring. In an hour and a half there's barely enough enough time to make it worth getting out his DS, so he puts his headphones in and fucks around on his phone instead.

They've got nearly four and a half hours at JFK before their next flight and the others eat lunch (Yuri isn't particularly hungry and so just picks at a criminally overpriced salad) and do a bit of window shopping after finding their gate. He has his hinged brace on, and it's been helping, but after all the walking he's done already today it's started to ache so he holds down the fort at the gate and tries not to pay too much attention to Viktor and Yuuri. He's only somewhat successful.

The flight from New York to Moscow is torture.

He and Mila are in their own little row of two, with Yuri at the window, which he prefers. Viktor and Yuuri are a row ahead and just on the other side of their aisle. From where he sits he can see the way Yuuri turns in toward Viktor as they talk and laugh together. The way they slump together as they doze off. His knee is a constant ache. Sleep eludes him. Just as he had with dinner, he skips the brunch served in flight because the thought of food makes him queasy. He can  _ feel _ the effort Mila is putting into not bringing it up.

By the time they land in Moscow it's been 22 hours since he slept, and 20 since he ate.

*

At the end of each competition week - after the comp itself, after the gala, after the interviews and photos and small medals and big medals and no medals, after the banquet and the after-banquet -  _ after _ \- Viktor Nikiforov resolutely held to one single principle: he owed nothing further to anyone. 

There is precious little strength left in anyone's tank at the end of these things. Skaters - Giacometti or Crispino or even Chulanont - fulfill their jobs to their utmost on the ice, in front of the mic, and at the presser tables. But afterward, they duck away, breathing a little sigh of relief. Athletes and consummate professionals all, they put in the work, gave their all, and are subsequently released from the media's eye until the next event.  _ Go train more,  _ it expects of them. _ Be more skilled when we see you next. _

And to be sure, that is no small demand, and no low bar, by any means, to live up to. That's an exhausting experience, and they do it at every competition, five or six or eight times a year. That's their experience, and Viktor respects them for it.

It's not Viktor's experience. And in many ways - actually, pretty much every way - he envies them for it. Viktor, for all that he is more affable, more sociable, more extroverted, than many other skaters, is also more well-connected, more in-demand, more rumored, more hounded. And acknowledging this, even within the privacy of his own mind, always feels like a private act of aggression against his friends. But it's true - he fights for his downtime at each event, and doesn't feel he's truly secured it until even the banquet is through.

Following from this, Viktor has always had a special place in his heart for the process of the return flight. Hours in a plane, hours in an airport - the stillness, lack of motion, in the airplane seat is wearying, to be sure. But still, there's something about the ritual of it, the returning part of it, that's deeply reassuring to him, no matter how physically exhausting or tiresome it may be. And it might help that he's got a much longer fuse when it comes to inanity, repetition, and tediousness than most people he's met.

The little sequences of difficulties that come along with travel, the series of if-this-then-that conditional decisions, trimmed in by the surroundings, don't bother him. How long is our layover? Do we have time to get food at the better place thirty gates away from ours, or do we need to compromise for the worse but closer one? Where's our luggage? Take off your watch, put it back on. Take off your shoes, put them back on. Viktor faces these situational headaches without an ounce of irritation, and as a result, he tends to float through the travel process like an unruffled apparition of calm. Even his long duster coat seems unable to be even creased by inconvenience or mess. Within that halo of calm, Viktor is confident, relaxed, contented.

He's been told it's infuriating. He doesn't take it personally.

In Moscow, Viktor and the rest of Team Russia get separated from Yuuri as they breeze through the passport check with their Russian papers, and Yuuri gets funnelled into the line for foreign entrants.

"Go on ahead," Yuuri calls to them, tired but smiling. "There's no problem," he says, explaining the line thirty people deep that spools out from the foreign entry passport counter. "But they said it's backed up a bit, the system is doing something weird? I think? So I'll be waiting a while. Go ahead. I'll meet you at the gate."

It's been the better part of an hour, and still no sign of Yuuri's familiar disheveled hair pushing his way toward them through the crowd of travelers. Viktor's been watching the corridor in the direction Yuuri would have been coming from, taking advantage of his height to scan the crowd. Leaning against a pillar near their gate, a warm croissant in his hands, Viktor nibbles contentedly, thoughts drifting, and watches the crowd move.

Yuri finds a seat as far away from everyone as possible and curls himself up as best he can. He drapes his right leg over the armrest between his seat and the next and manages to find a position for it that doesn't make him want to scream or cry or both. He'd been taking the acetaminophen and ibuprofen like he should, but they're fighting a losing battle. His eyes burn but he knows he won't be getting any sleep until he finally crashes into his bed at Lilia's, probably without even removing his shoes. And that'll be at least another seven hours from now. And all he wants right now is to crawl into Viktor's arms and hide against his neck to shut the rest of the world out.

Viktor is aware of this, and Viktor is left uncertain.

Not outwardly, obviously. But internally, privately, he's torn. He usually doesn't pay much pointed attention to the rest of the team when they travel. Teammates float in and out of his awareness passively, and he's entertained by, or uninterested in, them by turns. But he doesn't seek anyone out. Traveling is his own time. He doesn't owe anyone his services as babysitter, guardian angel, advocate, or entertainment. Not even as friend. 

Except...

Yuri is miserable. Yuri is miserable, and Viktor can't figure out what to do about it. Nothing, as would be his usual? Everyone has bad days, tiresome flights; they cope, they use the resources they need to, they manage. Maybe he'd pay a bit more attention if Yuuri was injured or something, because Yuuri is his skater, and he's at least a halfway passable coach. Mostly.

But since Yuri isn't his skater, Viktor can't use that excuse in this case. He doesn't  _ need _ an excuse to show concern for his teammate, and he could do that now, to help Yuri feel better. It's not a very typical Traveling Viktor behavior, but not entirely out of the realm of feasibility, given his well-known generalised affection for his team. That could be just fine.

But what would that look like? And what would Yuri do in response?

_ You're overthinking this,  _ he scolds himself. _ Just go hug him. _

_ And then what? _ he snaps back, superego fighting back against his impulsive id. Then just cuddle him, publically, as if it's normal? And have him cuddle back, calm as a kitten? As if that's normal? You have to think this through, Nikiforov.

_ But he's in pain. _

Viktor is getting nowhere fast, and giving himself a worse and worse headache the harder he tries. There isn't an answer he can be happy with. Viktor decides he'll just...figure it out later. And pushes it from his mind. Yuri's capable, he'll ask his coaches for help if he needs it. He doesn't need Viktor to swoop in and… what? Fuss over him? Yuri  _ loooooves _ being fussed over. Viktor snorts to himself. 

Yeah, that's the most important part, isn't it? Yuri hates being publicly fussed over. Viktor will respect that.

Yuri will be fine.

*

Yuri has absolutely no idea how he's going to make it through the next four hours until they board for Piter. Everything he could do to pass the time in an airport requires walking and absolutely will not get back up again unless or until he has to. Normally he'd text Beka and annoy him into taking a break and keeping him company long-distance for a while, but the fucking weirdo has gone camping in the mountains for a few days because that's a totally normal thing to do the moment you get home from a competition halfway around the world. His knee is too distracting for him to concentrate sufficiently on a video game, so not even that's an option.

He pulls out his phone and takes a quick selfie and posts it to Instagram, knowing full well how terrible he looks. He's too tired to care. His only caption is #☠️

Someone else at their gate is eating and the smell of the food turns his stomach, but then it's followed by the smell of coffee and oh that would actually be really fucking nice. He doesn't drink coffee often, but the caffeine might help him maintain what's left of his sanity at least until they board. And yes, it requires getting up, but hopefully the end result will be worth it.

So he hauls himself to his feet, grits his teeth, and sets off.

*

Airport concourses, by definition, are traffic-jammed. No matter how wide the hallways will be made, how many moving walkways utilitzed to organise and sort the flows of travelers into orderly manners, people are like a liquid: they will expand to fill the space allotted them. They'll spread their legs, leave their luggage standing in the middle of an aisle, blithely walk three-abreast. Somehow, they'll remain completely oblivious to their fellow travelers in wheelchairs, or pushing strollers, approaching them from the opposite direction, until a completely avoidable traffic jam has materialised, tangling up a dozen more people behind it. Usually, this leads to inconvenience, frustration, and delay, but only that much. Usually.

Yuuri sees the commotion before he hears it, a densely packed cluster of fifteen or twenty travelers, collecting more by the moment. Most of those around the edges are quiet, leaning in, some standing on tiptoes to see. Others are whispering. Some push their way out of the cluster, continuing on with their commute, as they get bored of whatever it is at the center that's drawn their attention. No one, however, seems to be helping, though everyone looks scandalised. 

Yuuri draws near, coming to a stop near the edge of the commotion. Coffee in one hand and fruit smoothie in the other, he intends to carefully edge his way around the mess without getting elbowed when he hears another traveler speaking in a delightedly scandalised tone for the benefit of anyone who wants to hear.

`

"It was a big man! Very tall. Two huge suitcases. Just wham, straight through! Poor cripple boy..."

Yuuri's Russian isn't great, but he's been working on it with Viktor, and he catches enough key words to understand what's going on. There's no emergency personnel anywhere to be seen, but nevertheless, for a moment, Yuuri thinks to himself,  _ Don't cause a fuss. Someone else will surely handle it. It's none of your business. _

His gut twists, though, and he can't say why, but he knows he won't feel right unless he makes certain that there's help coming for the victim of the collision. He pushes his way through the crowd, using his beverages as a defensive weapon that causes other travelers to scuttle away when they realize their choice is to move, or push him and get spilled on. In the center of the cluster of rubberneckers, Yuuri sees the back of a very familiar jacket, a very familiar head of beautiful blond hair, and is instantly scrambling to put his drinks down on the floor, only barely carefully enough to keep them from spilling, mostly because if they spill, they'll flow across the tile and get all over the legs of the boy crumpled in the middle of this cold public circus.

_ "Fuck off!" _ Yuuri yells to the crowd in English, shocking himself with his own vehemence. And then he repeats himself in Russian.  _ "Go away!" _

*

Under normal circumstances, Yuri doesn't mind being the center of attention. Enjoys it, even. But not now, not like this. There are people standing around but nobody is even offering to help him to his feet. He could get up on his own, but it would just be awkward and horrible and since he's heard his name being whispered at least once he's not willing to make that much more of a spectacle of himself.

He pulls the hood of his jacket up over his head, doing his best to hide because there's every chance that this could end up in at least one shitty tabloid and he doesn't want his face to be seen.

«Get the fuck away from me!»

The crowd disperses, some skittering away at Yuuri's first shout, some only retreating, sluggishly, as Yuri's yell and Yuuri's stubborn shooing motions push them away, back to their own lives. 

Yuuri turns to Yuri once the traffic flow has resumed, extending one hand toward him. Yuuri wants to get him off the floor as fast as he can, because the sooner Yuri's standing, the sooner Yuri isn't vulnerable to being gawked at. And whatever pain he's in from falling, Yuuri knows Yuri well enough to be certain the physical pain is the lesser problem right now.

He narrowly prevents himself from asking Yuri if he's okay, which definitely would get him punched. Instead, "Stand up?"

There's a shuffling of feet as people begin to drift away and Yuri finally risks peeking out from under his hood. Someone is reaching a hand out to him and he follows the arm up to see.... Katsudon. Because  _ of fucking course _ it would be fucking Pork Cutlet Bowl who's here to see him this vulnerable. He supposes it makes up for him seeing the piggy crying his eyes out in a disgusting bathroom stall.

Before he's quite decided to do it, he reaches up to slap Yuuri's hand away. "I don't need your help, leave me the fuck alone," he snarls.

Yuuri pulls his hand back, softening the force of the blow when the back of Yuri's connects with his own. He isn't exactly surprised - you do tend to get swiped at when you try to help a wounded cat.

"I never said you did," Yuuri says, purposefully remaining calm, and stepping back to give Yuri room to stand up on his own. Yuuri glances over at his drinks - somehow, they're both still standing. He circles Yuri, and bends to carefully pick up both cups. It puts him behind Yuri again, out of sight for a moment, and juggling the cups helps him disguise that he's watching Yuri to make sure he's okay, even if Yuri won't let him physically help. "What happened?"

To stop from crying out as he forces his knee to cooperate, Yuri bites the inside of his cheek so hard that the metallic taste of blood floods his mouth. "You heard them. Some fucking asshole just fucking mowed me down. Didn't even fucking slow down, just kept right on booking it. I guess it's a good thing I hadn't gotten my coffee yet."

Yuri takes a careful step forward, testing out his knee and pain shoots white-hot through him and tears spring to his eyes. Once they start there's no hope of getting them to stop as whatever it was inside his head that's been holding him together these last few hours finally shatters.

Yuuri's surprised to see Yuri begin to cry. He's clearly in pain, and clearly stressed, and yet never before has Yuuri seen that reduce Yuri to tears like this. It's not a crying fit, any explosive sobs; to the contrary, Yuuri can see that Yuri's holding himself back from making noise, whether or not he needs to, with a determined internal effort. 

Yuuri holds out his coffee to Yuri tentatively. He can't tell if Yuri's even going to be able to walk by himself, but he really doesn't want to ask. Not least because the answer wouldn't be any help anyway. "I'm not sure how you take your coffee, but um, this one's still hot, if you want...?"

Yuri stares at Katsudon, trying to process what's happening. "You're... giving me your coffee?"

"W-well, if you don't like this one, tell me what you want instead and I can go get the right kind," Yuuri says. He can't really read Yuri when he gets terse like this, so - in lieu of any other clues - Yuuri tries to just use his normal bright, but not annoyingly bright, tones in his reply. "If you tell me what the guy looked like, I'll go tell airport security about him. I think I passed an information booth back there, too."

Yuri is mortified as more tears creep down his cheeks at Yuuri's offer of the coffee - or to get him a different one. He reaches out with a slightly shaking hand and wraps his fingers around the warm cup. "Th..." He swallows the lump in his throat and tries again. "Thank you, Yuuri." The first sip burns the tip of his tongue and he doesn't even care.

"Don't bother with security. The asshole is probably on his plane by now. And they honestly wouldn't give a shit anyway. But we should start moving or we're likely to get run down again."

"Well, I can still lodge a complaint!" Yuuri puffs up, irritated by the idea that the airport staff wouldn't care, or wouldn't be concerned. He's aware that it's not the same here, that public servants aren't expected to be polite the way that they should be, by themselves or by the public they serve. Still, it's frustrating. He focuses on that frustration, expanding on his mild-mannered indignation at the system, and smoothly pretends he can't even see the tears on Yuri's face. It's not a unique skill, but one that he can claim a particularly good mastery over - far better than Phichit, for example, to say nothing of Viktor. 

"You could have knocked your head or something. That would have been entirely his fault. And he didn't even stop to see if you were okay? What if you needed his insurance to pay for hitting your head?"

"But he didn't, and I don't. Just let it go."  _ I just want to go home! _

Yuri sets off walking back toward their gate. Or he tries, anyway. He hadn't felt anything snap or pop in his knee when he fell, so he thinks it's unlikely that there's actually anything torn, but landing on it certainly didn't help, and every step is agony.

Yuuri walks alongside Yuri, keeping pace with him. They're not precisely in a rush - it's not like their flight leaves soon - but this pace is glacial, and Yuuri watches every flinch, every wobble, with anxiety-sharpened focus. Eventually, it's more than he can take, and he explodes into a cluster of worried face and fussing hands, hovering just shy of actually touching Yuri (because he doesn't have permission yet).

"Yuri, can I -- can I help you? Please? That looks...that looks bad."

Yuri wants to snap that he's fine, he can manage on his own. But he knows he can't. Or at least shouldn't. He drops his head and nods slightly. Is he ever going to stop crying?

Yuuri nearly misses the nod entirely. He's ready to be told no, ready for Yuri to fight him, ready for yelling, even. He's not ready for quiet, broken acquiesence, and so he almost misses that it's been given, and when he does notice, it takes another long moment to process.

"Oh. Oh! Okay, um, okay. Yeah." He scrambles closer, transferring his smoothie to his right hand, and looping his left arm under Yuri's right arm. "That jerk," he mutters, as they get settled together, because maybe it'll insulate him from some of Yuri's frustrated wrath, if Yuuri reminds Yuri that he definitely knows Yuri doesn't normally need help! And this is an exception! And he doesn't think less of him for it!

"Okay, um, I'm really bad at this, just tell me how to help," he says, once he can feel that he's carrying some of Yuri's weight. "Do I move my foot, um, with you? Opposite you?"

Coffee in his left hand, Yuri rests his right arm across Yuuri's shoulders, propping himself up slightly. Yuuri is taller than he is and it actually takes most of the weight off his right leg.

"I don't know, I've never done this before," Yuri grouches. "We'll just have to try it and find out." Thankfully they won't have to do this all the way back to their gate. There's a moving walkway ahead that will get them most of the rest of the way there.

"O-okay," Yuuri says, and steels himself. He can do this! He's not accidentally going to trip and fall over and crush the Ice Tiger of Russia and injure him and get his eyes clawed out! Probably!

To be fair, it doesn't go as badly as he expected it to. And it wasn't as hard as he feared. Still, it's a huge relief as they step onto the walkway, and Yuuri lets Yuri's arm down so he can grab onto the walkway rail. His hands hover near, one floating just behind Yuri's shoulders, until he's sure Yuri is balanced on his own. Then Yuuri moves ahead of Yuri and turns around, facing backwards, so he's facing Yuri. If any other fast-moving inconsiderate jerk comes zooming along this walkway, Yuuri's going to make sure he sees them coming, and keeps them well to their side of the belt, away from Yuri's ankles. And if not, he'll act like he was standing like this just to make conversation easier.

_ This is my life now, _ Yuri figures.  _ I'm just going to cry forever. Trying to work it into my image will be a challenge and I'll never be able to wear eye makeup again. _

He sips the coffee as they float along on the walkway. He's noticed the way Yuuri is standing and has a pretty decent idea why. He's simultaneously touched and annoyed by it, and he briefly imagines what it would look like if he didn't warn Yuuri when the end of the walkway was coming up.

Every time they go past someone sitting at a table eating, Yuri's tempted to reach out and snag something off their plate just to see the expression on their face.

It's anything but quiet in an airport, obviously, but there's still a tense silence, localized in their little space, that makes Yuuri feel restless. He attempts to break it. "So, um. How do you take your coffee? Usually, I mean. For curiosity."

"I prefer tea," Yuri replies automatically, and then remembers that he's not trying to pick a fight. "Fake cream and fake sugar," he amends.

"Oh. Yeah, um. Tea's good. And oh, ok! I don't really like milk taste, so I never got used to cream in coffee."

It's awkward, but it's civil, and even - almost - a little warm.

The walkway ends and Yuuri hops off first, holding out a hand for Yuri, so that he can keep a semblance of balance as the momentum of the walkway abandons him and still manage not to put weight on his bad leg. Then, arm over shoulders, arm around back, they continue. 

The longer it goes, the more evident it is that neither of them are any good at this. Yuuri's back aches, and he's certain he whacked into Yuri's ankle by accident at one point. But Yuri didn't complain, and Yuuri hopes that whatever the inconsiderate traveler's collision did to Yuri's ankle (it seems like it's his ankle, right?) isn't too deep.

As they're clearing the waiting area for the gate right before theirs - "Fifty meters," Yuuri says, trying to be encouraging - a yelp rings out from the gate ahead of them. Their gate.

_ I know that yelp, _ Yuuri has time to think, before a whirlwind in silver and tan, and a bolt of grumpy former-prima-ballerina lightning all made of sharp elbows, are pulling Yuri off of him.

"What happened?" Viktor asks him, as Lilia pulls Yuri into her arms.

"A guy with suitcases ran him over," Yuuri says, and puts one hand on the center of Viktor's forehead and pushes away until he's at a less alarmingly intense distance. "You're going to make me spill my smoothie."

Viktor turns to look at Yuri. "Fuck." And then he's gone from Yuuri's side, and Yuuri is left standing there with more questions than he had before.

"He only fell over a little!" Yuuri calls after them, as Lilia and Viktor fuss their way through getting Yuri into a seat, but they're not really listening.

All the sudden activity around him makes Yuri's head spin and he closes his eyes against another wave of tears, letting Lilia and Viktor basically carry him between them and then get him settled in a chair. They're both trying to ask him questions at once and he can't answer any of them. He wants to just crawl into Viktor's lap and tell Lilia to go away and leave him alone, but he can't do either of those things. And he wants Yuuri to come back and tell them both that he's okay.

Yuuri isn't, by any means, the person who knows Yuri best. That might be his grandfather, that might be Lilia or Yakov - hell, that might be Viktor, as improbable as that sounded. But it certainly isn't Yuuri. So with Yuri between two of the people who know him best, and another of them looking on from not too far away, everything's settled, right? 

But that voice in his head - or that feeling in his gut - it's prodding at him again, telling him  _ no, things are not yet okay, you are not yet done. _ Sucking on his smoothie, holding Yuri's unfinished coffee, he walks close enough to overhear what Lilia and Viktor are saying. It's all in Russian, and too fast and complex for Yuuri to catch any of it, even though he's been studying.

"He got crashed into by a man with big suitcases," Yuuri says pointedly in English, addressing his tone to Lilia. "I didn't see it happen, but I happened to arrive right after it did, and a crowd was there. They said so. I helped him up and we came back here." He blinks guilelessly at her critical, narrow-eyed glare. "The man didn't stay, so I didn't see him. Yuri was going to go get a coffee, but I gave him mine and we came back instead."

Yuuri's words apparently satisfy Lilia, because she stops asking questions and withdraws to the periphery of Yuri's awareness.

Viktor, crouching in front of Yuri, rocks back on his heels. He nods, acknowledging Yuuri's contribution, and lays his hand lightly on Yuri's left knee. «Does it hurt?»

Yuri instinctively flinches at Viktor's touch even though he'd had the good sense to leave Yuri's bad knee alone. He manages to focus enough to make sense of what's being asked and he nods, his eyes still squeezed shut (not that it does any good keeping the tears at bay).

Viktor hovers, caught in the middle of warring impulses. But Yuri's cheeks streak with fresh tears and Viktor snaps.  _ Fuck it. _

Unseating the person to Yuri's left with an apology, Viktor takes that seat, loops his arms around Yuri's shoulders, and pulls him sideways, hugging him to his chest. One hand spanning the back of Yuri's head, as though he's comforting a child, his other bands around Yuri's middle, pulling firmly. Dragging Yuri into Viktor's lap entirely is probably unwise for reasons of protecting his knee, as well as for the sake of better judgment, but that doesn't stop Viktor from wanting to. Instead, he settles for this awkward but earnest hug.

«You landed on your knee, didn't you,» he murmurs, pressing his cheek to Yuri's hair with a sigh. «Shit.»

Yuri is vaguely aware of Yuuri taking the chair on his right and he's oddly grateful for it. Yuuri's presence through this has been comforting and it's welcome now. As much as he might resent Yuuri's open closeness with Viktor, they are friends... of a sort. 

When Viktor pulls Yuri against him, he goes willingly, tucking his head under Viktor's chin and finally giving himself over to the tears. «Yeah. But it's been hurting since JFK.»

«I'm honestly surprised it didn't start sooner,» Viktor admits, rueful. 

Language-blocked from the conversation, Yuuri puts his hand on Yuri's back and rubs gently, to soothe, while Viktor and Yuri talk.

«Have you told Lilia yet?» Viktor asks.

«She knows I jammed it when I hit the boards but she doesn't know it's been bothering me this much.» Yuri can hear Viktor's heart beating under his cheek and its steady rhythm is soothing. As is Yuuri's hand on his back. «You can tell Yuuri, if you want. He deserves to know.»

«He does?» Viktor's not challenging Yuri, but he is surprised, and he lets it show.

«He made everyone leave me alone. And I never would have made it back here without him. Tell him thank you, too.» He yawns and curls his fingers into Viktor's shirt. His knee is still throbbing, but it's slightly better now that he's off it again, and he thinks perhaps he might be able to fall asleep like this. «I'm so tired, Vitya... haven't slept since we left.»

«I'll tell him,» Viktor promises. «You can't sleep like this, Yura, you're all twisted up here. But we could get you laid down in the lounge for the rest of the layover, would that be okay?»

«Don't leave...» He's fading fast, but if going to sleep means that Viktor will leave then he'll just have to stay awake.

«I won't leave, you silly. I'm just saying you can't sleep half on me, you'll wrench your back.»

Viktor pauses, wetting his lips, looking around. Past their gate's seating area, two gates down, there's an Elite Flyer lounge with proper couches and chaises where he could take Yuri. Lilia and Yakov look concerned, as do the rest of the team, and Viktor is overcome with the need to just get Yuri away.

«You either need to get up or give me permission to carry you.»

«Carry me.» He can't imagine getting back to his feet and walking even another two steps. He doesn't even care where Viktor's taking him as long as he can sleep and Viktor doesn't leave.

Honestly, Viktor expected that answer. Yuri is exhausted, not yet shaking in Viktor's arms, but it feels like a near thing, like the next logical step. As for other logical steps - such as those to get Yuri from here to there, from the gate to the club lounge - those seem more daunting simply because he's going to have to do them enburdened. There's no way Yuri will tolerate being put down for a moment at this point, but Viktor doesn't want to carry him to and fro like a purse - even if he believed he physically had the strength for that, which he doesn't.

Yuuri, as before, is right where he's needed. "I'll ask Lilia," he says, having gotten the gist just from Yuri's exhausted, pained body language. Yuuri himself sure wouldn't want to be walking on that leg.

Lilia calls over one of the pairs teams traveling with them. "You," she says, pointing imperiously. "Nikolaj."

"Um, maybe not," Yuuri interjects, and though Lilia looks at him like he's grown two heads, he barrels onward. "Yuri might bite anyone other than Viktor right now." 

Lilia doesn't like it - Nikolaj, uninvolved but concerned for Yuri's safety and Viktor's too, doesn't like it - but Yuuri does the apologizing and shrugging and 'there's no help for it'-ing so that Viktor doesn't have to.

Viktor thinks that's wonderful of him.

Yuri is dimly aware that he's currently the center of a discussion but can't focus enough to make any sense of it.

Then he's being gently shifted over to Yuuri and he grumbles but Yuuri shushes him and assures him that Viktor's not leaving. A few moments later he's being transferred again, this time to Viktor's arms. He wraps his arms around Viktor's neck and settles in against his chest, already dozing off again.

The lounge is quieter, filled primarily with businessmen. One is being rude enough to carry on his phone call in the lounge, rather than stepping outside, but other than him, the rest are all engrossed in their work on their laptops. Viktor settles Yuri down on lengthwise one of the couches, and - without letting his hands lift from their contact with Yuri's body in some way - scoots to the head end, where he settles in, sitting upright on one end of the couch, with Yuri's head in his lap.

Yuri rouses briefly, automatically shifting into his normal sleeping position curled into a semi-fetal position, with one hand up by his face - in this case resting on Viktor's thigh - and the last thing he's aware of is the feeling of Viktor's coat settling over him and long fingers sifting through his hair.

Viktor's glad for the relative privacy the business lounge affords him. Once Yuuri, Lilia, Yakov, and the pair skater Nikolaj - who tagged along to help just in case, which Viktor thought was kind of sweet, if completely unnecessary - left, heading back to their gate, Viktor feels more able to relax. Yuri is in no immediate danger, there is no reason to panic, and he doesn't need to hover. But Yuri had asked him to stay close, so he will. The reality is that any transcontinental flight of this length is hard to bear; to be coping with an acute injury at the same time is surely excruciating. Yuri shouldn't have hidden it to start with, because that really only contributed to making it even harder for him to cope with now. But that was done. Moving forward, with most of the journey behind them, Yuri only has to hold on a little longer. In relative terms, they're almost there.

Viktor hems in his thoughts to these areas only, idle epistolaries addressed to no one. He does his best not to let them drift into more emotional areas, like how much he wanted to ask Yuuri about finding Yuri. Or whether he could ask Yuuri to switch seats with him on the next plane.

Viktor curls down over Yuri's head and kisses his forehead, relieved to note as he does that Yuri doesn't seem to be running a fever. 

Less than three hours to go before their flight to Piter. Maybe Viktor can catch a nap, too.

*

Someone, Yuri realizes, is trying to coax him awake, but he's not ready to wake up yet! He just fell asleep! He swats at the hand on his shoulder and grumbles, turning to press his face more firmly into his pillow. His hard, oddly-shaped pillow. He frowns and lifts his head a few inches, finally opening his eyes and taking in his surroundings. Oh. Right.

He sits up but then falls forward again, pressing his forehead against Viktor's shoulder. He knows it's just one more relatively short flight and then a car ride home, but it might as well be months. "I can't," he mumbles, hunkering down into Viktor's coat.

"Oh, Yura." Viktor cradles the back of Yuri's head in his hand and wraps his other arm around Yuri's back, holding him near, trying to soothe him. But what can he offer when there's no getting around the one thing Yuri most doesn't want to do?

"You can, Yura, you can do this. Just a little more."

Yuri heaves a sigh and raises a hand to scrub at his burning eyes. His body feels like it's made of lead, and his knee still aches, but he somehow manages to get to his feet, wavering only slightly. "Let's go, then."

Viktor stands too, and carefully loops his arm around Yuri's shoulders to steady him, maybe to support him too, if he can figure out the balance properly. And in the midst of that innocent adjustment, shuffling their proximity til it helps, rather than hinders, Yuri's mobility, Viktor presses a kiss to Yuri's temple. Not in his hair, where all manner of patronizing affection might be laid, but just beyond that, on the skin just past his hairline.  _ I know you're strong. _

Yuri bumps his forehead against Viktor's shoulder, then takes a tentative step forward. He's determined to get there on his own two feet if it's at all possible, but he's also very very glad to have Viktor's help and support. Despite the height difference, they quickly figure out how to move together to make it as easy as possible on him.

"Yuri!" They've barely reached the edge of their gate's seating area before Yuuri is on them, swooping in to take over for Viktor which, admittedly, might not be necessary, but comes from a place of truly good intention. "Are you feeling better? We were just about to go get you. They've started boarding."

Yuri just manages to stop himself from whining and grabbing for Viktor when Yuuri takes his place. "I just want to get home." Because no, he's not feeling better, but there's no way to say it without snapping, and Yuuri's been kind and doesn't deserve that.

Yuuri's smile doesn't even dent. "I know. I would too! I can't imagine what the pressure changes are doing to your poor knee."

Yuri just nods and leans against Yuuri, taking the weight off his knee. They're currently allowing anyone who "needs extra time" to board, which means they should be next, so it's not worth sitting down again. "I need my bag..."

"Already taken care of," Yuuri says, happy to have thought ahead about this, happy to be able to help. "Mila took it, since we figured you'd be sitting next to her again?" 

Beside them, Viktor frowns, but doesn't say anything.

"I..." He has no right to ask Yuuri to trade seats with him. Or ask Mila to trade seats with Viktor. But right now it very much feels like his ability to keep even a shred of his sanity until they get to Piter is dependent on his proximity to Viktor.

Yuuri misunderstands that sound as a grimace of pain. "Yuri, are you okay? Do you need to sit down?" They're only a few spots from the front of the line; past the gate agent scanning their tickets is the gangway, and then the plane itself, and sitting, and it'll be better then, right? He looks at Viktor, anxious.

Yuri shakes his head, not trusting his voice. Yes, he needs to sit down, but they don't have time and he'll be in his seat on the plane before long anyway. What he needs is Viktor.

He normally has no problem at all demanding whatever he wants, but these aren't normal circumstances. And even as it is, logically he knows that if he asked Mila or Yuuri to switch they happily would - especially Mila, who knows. But he just... can't.

"Yura," Viktor says. It's an invitation.  _ I'm listening. _

Yuri turns to Viktor with pleading, desperate eyes. "Vitya... I can't," an echo of himself.

Hell. Yuri looks a wreck, and Viktor tamps down the urge to sweep him up into his arms again. It would be impractical. The gangway is narrow, and so is the plane aisle. And there's better, less pointlessly dramatic solutions to be had.

"Yuuri, do you think you could sit with Mila for this flight?" Belatedly, Viktor drags his gaze from Yuri's to find Yuuri's. "I know we'd been planning on continuing our conversation, but..."

Yuuri blinks. "Oh. Yeah, that's no problem," he says. "Of course. Do you think that would help?"

"It would," Viktor says, smiling apologetically. "Thank you, Yuuuuuri~"

"R-really, it's fine, Viktor," Yuuri says, and fumbles his bag. "I’ll go ahead and find Mila."

Yuri turns grateful eyes to Yuuri. "Thank you," he says quietly, ashamed that he couldn't just ask himself. "I'm sorry."

"Thank you, really," Viktor says again, and Yuuri nods twice and scuttles up the line to stand with Mila.

Viktor cradles Yuri against his side and busies himself by fussing with his own coat, still draped over Yuri's thin shoulders, to make it hang more neatly.

"Is that better?" he asks, voice low, for only their ears.

Yuri tucks himself under Viktor's arm. "Yeah. I'm sorry, I don't want to be a bother..."

"Shush," Viktor says. "Focus on walking."

With Viktor's help, Yuri manages to make it down the gangway and onto the plane. The aisle is a little trickier to navigate, but Viktor is right behind him with a hand on his waist to steady him if needed. Finally he slides into his seat with a sigh. He's one step closer to getting home.

"Remind me," Viktor murmurs, as he folds up his coat and tucks it neatly under the seat in front of him. When he leans back, he leans closer toward Yuri, over the broad, desk-shaped armrest that separates their generously sized seats. "Do you take sleeping pills when you fly? I don't remember if you have before or not, but I thought today it might help."

Yuri shakes his head. "Don't normally need them." He curls up in his seat as best he can, turned toward Viktor. "Maybe..."

"Mm." Victor frowns. "If you're not used to them, they might knock you out too much. But I do have more ibuprofen, for what that's worth."

"Yes, please. Just... the whole bottle." He scooches over as far as he can until he can lean his head on Viktor's shoulder. He can't wait until they're in the air so he can kick the footrest out and find a comfortable position for his knee.

"Well, that's not happening," Viktor answers dryly. It's not terribly comfortable to lean together across this huge armrest - business class seating is designed to ensure everyone's bubble of private space, but all Viktor (and, clearly, Yuri) needs right now is some economy-style seating mashed up side by side. Without, they'll have to cope. He braces his elbow on the armrest, so his shoulder is squarer, steadier for Yuri. It's going to kill his elbow, and he doesn't care.

Viktor reaches for Yuri's hand and laces their fingers together. It's a more intimate hold than he should be indulging in, but Yuri's in pain and Travel Viktor owes no one anything, remember? So he strokes his thumb over the back of Yuri's hand. And turns his head so that his very, very quiet murmur is spoken directly into Yuri's hair, so even the movement of his lips is hidden.

"I really should not have let you brush me off when I meant to take care of your knee better, yesterday morning," he says, and he can't help it, his lips curl in a smile. Savoring. "I will need to get better at resisting your charms."

Yuri smiles softly when Viktor takes his hand. He knows they probably shouldn't be holding hands where they can be seen like this, but everyone who knows them is already aware that today hasn't been normal, so hopefully they won't make too much of it.

Then Viktor is whispering into his hair and Yuri can feel his cheeks warm up slightly. "Don't get too good at it."

Viktor's fingers tighten between Yuri's. It's the same clasping grip they shared before, in the hotel, and Viktor is very glad that he's better at controlling his reactions now than he was when he was young. Once, the sudden flash of that mental image would have brought red to his cheeks instantly. Now, he tips his head against Yuri's, as if he's sleepy, and hums.

"Are you saying you want a handicap?"

Yuri's saved having to answer when the flight attendant launches into the safety procedure speech that he knows by heart in three different languages (one of which he doesn't even speak otherwise). His eyes fall shut again. He doesn't think he's going to have any trouble falling asleep on this flight, even without the aid of the sleeping pills.

*

It's a smooth flight. And, blessedly, it seems that Yuri sleeps soundly through most of it. Furthermore, by the time they land, Yuuri's filled Mila in on the collision and Yuri's knee. So he's got the help of the whole team as they begin the last, most annoyingly tedious leg of the trip, from the airport home.

The team splits up once they reach the rink, dispersing to their apartments, dorm, and homes. Yuri's still living with Lilia, and Viktor's got his own place, and they're not on the same side of town at all, so - before they're ready - without the private goodbye they'd like to have - they're in separate cars, heading home.

Viktor texts Yuri as soon as he's parked in the garage under his building. 

[Sent 23.35] Rest well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! As always, thank you for reading, and we hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> We also hope that everyone is doing well and staying healthy. We're going to try our best to keep updating on a fairly regular basis, but we're both struggling a bit since one of us is working hard from home, and the other is an essential employee, so our lives are a bit chaotic, and we hope you'll be patient with us.


	4. Interlude: St. Petersburg: coffee and cross-examination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mila sighs, irritated. "I'm not telling you this so you can use it to punish yourself. He wouldn't want that and I don't want that. I'm telling you this so that you'll understand why I'm willing to stand aside for the time being. Got it?"
> 
> Viktor nods, chastised. "Got it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short scene between Mila and Viktor, because one whispered promise at seven AM in a hotel room isn't sufficient reassurance to settle anyone's nerves.
> 
> Chapter CWs: two brief mentions of suicide in a larger conversation:  
> a brief reference, when relating a past event, to a pattern of self-harm as 'slow-motion suicide'.  
> a somewhat flippantly given reference to suicide, as in, 'if this thing goes wrong, then i'll kill myself.'

*  
  


*  
  


*  
  
Mila weaves her way through the cafe tables, carefully carrying their two coffees - a black with cream and no sugar for Viktor and a salted caramel mocha for herself - and settles in the booth across from Viktor, sliding his cup across to him. "So. I imagine you have a few questions for me."

Viktor's been metaphorically shaking his head in confusion and shock since she walked in on him sleeping with Yuri in Boston. Now, with a little echo of that, and a laugh, he rakes his bangs back from his eyes and leans forward, scooting his chair close.  "Honestly, I expected this would go the other way around."

"Well..." Mila shrugs. "I think we both have some explaining to do, no?" They're leaning in toward each other, careful to keep this conversation private. Part of the reason she'd asked Viktor to come to the cafe with her rather than talking this out on the ice was a desire to keep from being overheard. She's willing to protect them both for now. Well. She's willing to protect Yuri forever. As for Viktor...that's yet to be determined.

"I...think so, yes," Viktor agrees, hesitantly. "Can I just start by saying-- I have no idea how to start? In all of the - well, in all two of the semi-coherent thoughts I had that night, finally justifying it to myself..." He's aware he hasn't yet formed a complete sentence, but it's not for lack of trying. He's just struggling, here, and his wry expression indicates that.  "I didn't expect approval."

Mila makes an unimpressed face. "Hmm, I think 'approval' might be too strong a word. 'Temporary acceptance' might be closer to the mark. You'll have to earn my approval."

Viktor sits back, smiling thinly over his coffee cup. "That sounds more like the Mila I know."

Mila wants to snap at him that there's nothing to smile about yet, but she manages not to. "I meant what I said that morning. If you break his heart I will make sure that your name is blacklisted at every rink in the world, from Yubileyny to the Cricket Club to the lowliest mall rink. He's been through enough, I won't see him hurt again."

Viktor watches her quietly. After she's finished, he sips his coffee slowly, puts it down on the table, and exhales. He leans forward, elbows on the table, and though his voice is pitched low, his tone is perfectly straightforward. 

"Mila, if I break his heart, I'll probably kill myself."

"Tch." She rolls her eyes, impatient with his hyperbole. "You've always been one for drama, haven't you? Hopefully it won't come to that." Mila's trained with Viktor for years, so she's _used_ to his dramatic side - it just would be nice if he'd just make a straightforward promise instead of saying such overblown things. But he wouldn't be him if he could. So she sips her drink, waiting for him to get around to asking the key question.

"I intend that it doesn't," Viktor says, serious.

Mila's quiet, waiting out Viktor's patience. There's a lot of things he could ask, but after running them all through his head, he realizes they all hinge on the same one.

"While I fully intend to earn your acceptance, Mila," he says, "I admit I can't stop asking myself... Why do I have even as much as your 'temporary acceptance'?"

And there it is. She's going to have to be careful from here on in to inform Viktor without betraying Yuri's trust. It's going to be a tightrope walk. "You didn't see him when he learned you'd fucked off to Japan." She catches Viktor's eyes and won't let him break contact. "Or when he came home alone." She had been scared of him, and then for him, in turns.

Viktor swallows. "I... want to know. If you can tell me, I want to know the...scope, of what I did to him. He doesn't want to hold it over my head anymore, but...I should have to know. I feel like I deserve that much heartache, at least, for how much I gave him with my thoughtlessness."

"And-- more than that," he adds, realizing suddenly. "Wouldn't all of that make me even less deserving of your trust around him? That doesn't make sense."

Mila sighs, irritated. "I'm  _ not _ telling you this so you can use it to punish yourself. He wouldn't want that and I don't want that. I'm telling you this so that you'll understand why I'm willing to stand aside for the time being. Got it?"

Viktor nods, chastised. "Got it."

"When he found out you'd left, he was so angry. I know he's always angry, but this was a whole new level even for him. I tried to talk him down, but it... didn't work. Of course I knew what was at the heart of that rage - I've known how he feels about you for ages - but there was no getting through to him. He screamed in Yakov's face and do you know, Yakov just stood there and took it? But then, he saw you off at the airport, didn't he? Anyway. He screamed in Yakov's face and stormed out of the rink without even changing out of his skates. Next thing I knew, he was texting me a travel itinerary and swearing me to secrecy."

Viktor doesn't know what to say. Stupid comments ("Actually, he's not always angry,") and unnecessary ones ("He could have twisted his ankle, walking on land like that,") are all he can come up with. He just nods, instead. It doesn't make sense yet, but Mila seems to have more to say.

"That was scary. But it was scarier when he came home. He's always been dedicated to his skating, you know that as well as I do. But this... Yakov said it was because he'd never been challenged before and he'd finally realized that he needed to focus, but that was bullshit. This was beyond that. When Yakov brought Lilia in, Yura told her he'd sell himself, body and soul, to her if she would help him become a prima ballerina. He sold his soul to the ice, too, and it did its best to claim him. He'd be out there for hours on end, skating until his legs wouldn't support him anymore. Then he was angry with his body for betraying him and he'd force himself to get up and go do barre work. Day in, day out. He wasn't Yura anymore, he was just a vessel. Everything that was Yura was gone."

Viktor frowns. "I respect what you're saying, Mila, but - I don't think I agree. From what you're saying, his determination didn't go anywhere. I'm--" He sees her puffing up, expression darkening, and hurries to finish his sentence. "I'm not dismissing your worries, understand. I'm not saying I don't care he was overworking himself - but you can't say 'everything' Yura is was gone, when his fire hasn't gone out for a minute. With or without me."

"You weren't here, Viktor, you didn't see. It wasn't fire - fire is hot - this was stone cold. It was slow motion suicide."

"Isn't that a bit dramatic, Mila? Depression passes."

She kind of wants to slap him. No, she  _ really _ wants to slap him.

Viktor thinks maybe she's a little more mad than he's comfortable with.  "Mila, I'm...I'm sorry, my dear, I'm trying to follow what you're saying, but it doesn't add up. I know that it upset him. Badly. And I'm doing everything I can not to make him feel that way again. Am I missing something?"

She can't figure out if he's genuinely not understanding, or if it's just a front.  "What doesn't add up?"

Viktor's voice drops to a minimum murmur, for privacy, but also because he just...keeps running out of steam. He's trying, he really is. But he just keeps coming up with errors, every time he tries to work through her logic, tries to understand where she's coming from. 

"I hurt him badly...you are emphasizing how deeply I did do that...and all of that...is why you are willing to accept me being with him? Why don't you want my balls on a platter, instead?"

"When you came back," Mila says, voice tight, "even though you brought Yuuri with you and kept your distance, he became a real boy again."

"I remember how things were before," she continues, "when he was still Yuratchka to you, how different he was. And if just sharing a rink with you when you came back turned him back into the feral cat we all know and love now... well. I want to see what being loved by you will do for him."

"..Pinnochio?" Viktor interjects, catching a reference, and feeling a little alarmed by the implications of it, depending on which mythos Mila intended to reference. "Or the little tin soldier?"

It helps to distance himself from that last bit she said, too. He needs - just a moment more. If he can buy himself just a moment, he can understand that last part a bit better.

"Pinocchio," she responds absently. 

Viktor fidgets. "You think I can... heal him?" It's not a terribly comfortable idea to him.

"No, he needs to heal himself. But having you will allow him to do that. Or at least I hope it will."

"I don't..." Viktor sits back, rakes his hand through his bangs. This feels heavy, heavier than it ever feels to talk with Yuri himself. Even their tearful conversations the night of the banquet didn't feel as bleak as this.

"I don't understand," he mutters.

_ Why am I that important to him? Why does so much of what makes up him supposedly hang on me? _

Mila shrugs with one shoulder. "I don't understand it either. But he's always loved you."

"It scared me," Viktor admits softly. "I didn't know how to respond, once I realized it wasn't just an idol crush. That it wasn't going to go away."

"I know, and I'm not judging you for that. I'm actually glad you pushed him away for so long. Don't get me wrong, it was hard to watch him deal with it, but I know you did it because you had to. And if things don't work out between you for whatever reason, I won't hold that against you, either. Just don't toy with him."

Viktor looks up from his coffee with a mildly stricken expression. "I hope you're just saying that as part of a routine shovel speech, and not because you think I need to specifically be reminded of that. Mila, I was so afraid of toying with him that I was more prepared to let him hate me than to give myself any chance to lead him on. Especially...before I understood my own feelings, too."

He exhales, collecting his thoughts. "I'm very serious about this. If this...If my affection for him was not serious, was a whim, I would have been perfectly able to resist it for the rest of my life." His brow furrows, and his hands tighten on his mug. It feels strange, talking about this thing that Viktor had expected he'd take to his grave. And stranger still to reflect on the decision he made less than a week prior that had turned the entire situation on its axis."

"I just...couldn't, any longer." Viktor licks his lips, considering his words. There's more he could say, much more, but suddenly he's very embarrassed, very conscious of the weight of Mila's gaze. He shouldn't get specific with her about this, about the clawing ache that had grown in his chest, of wanting and not having. It's still too raw to him, still feels too unnerving and taboo. He can't talk to Mila about it; he can barely think about it, himself.

"I know, I believe you. I saw the way you treated and handled him on the way back from Boston." Mila reaches out and gently pries one of Viktor's hands off his mug, squeezing his fingers in hers. "I'm assuming nobody else knows? So if you ever need to talk to someone, I'm here for both of you."

_ Here for us? _ Viktor can't imagine what she means by that, more than to keep their secret. Maybe she intends that Viktor would, or could, bring his relationship troubles to her? Not a chance. Not her. Mila's loyalty must always be to Yuri. And if that means Viktor doesn't have a confidante about his worries, that's fine.

As if a switch has been flipped, Mila suddenly brightens, pulling Viktor out of his thoughts. "Oh! So I know this might be a bit presumptuous of me, and it was kind of a pain in the ass given the rather short notice, but I was looking at our hotel reservations coming up for the shows, and I can get us adjacent rooms with a connecting door for nearly every single stop. If you want."

Viktor's sure he missed something, lost in thought, so he mentally replays the last few seconds. Nope, he didn't miss anything, he's just... yet again, trying to catch up.

"Uhm. Wait. You mean you and me and...?" They both know whose name belongs at the end of that sentence.

"Yeah," she grins. "He's rooming with me the whole time. So if you want, I can change the rooms. If you don't, that's fine, too. I haven't told him about it yet."

Viktor can't breathe for a moment. And when he does, all he can manage to say, stupidly, sounding like he's been smacked between the eyes with a plank, is her name.  _ "Mila." _

...Is that good? Bad? "Use your words, Viktor."

"Oh. Right." Viktor shakes his head, as if he can shake his vocabulary back into alignment with his mouth.  "Thank you. I would... love that. It would be so much less risky for him."

"Less risky for both of you. And you're welcome. I'll do that as soon as I get home."

Viktor reaches across the table, touches her forearm lightly. "Are you going to tell him what you're planning? If it's meant to be a surprise, I could make sure not to mention it."

She's... touched... by Viktor's touch. She hadn't intended it to be a surprise, but why not? "Sure, let's surprise him with it!"

Viktor smiles. It starts slow, but ends up all the way out, one of his big heartmouth absurdities, and he squeezes his touch momentarily firmer, following the way his shoulders scrunch up in excitement. "He'll be so mad at me for not telling!" he laughs, clearly delighted. "And I'll be sure he knows it was all you."

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As if these two could spend any time together without getting up to mischief. RIP Yakov's hair, honestly, he's already got a whole rinkful of drama - and they're about to add on even more than he realizes, now.
> 
> Thank you for reading!  
> -s & s


	5. St. Petersburg: Boyfriend, sweater, boyfriend sweater

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [To Vitya: save me from death by boredom]
> 
> [To Yura: I'm not going to go over Lilia's and Yakov's heads on this, I'm sorry~]
> 
> Yuri frowns and replies. [I didn't ask you to]
> 
> [I know you didn't. Maybe I'm reminding myself~]
> 
> [okay, but i'm still bored. i don't know what to do when i'm not skating]
> 
> [I know, Yura. I wish I could come keep you company.]
> 
> [you could. lilia won't be home until late]
> 
> [Oh, you mean like that.]
> 
> [not necessarily]
> 
> [I don't think I should. You need to rest your knee.]
> 
> [watching a movie or something wouldn't bother my knee]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey everyone! thank you for your patience.
> 
> the world is on fire and it's hard to focus on fic when there's so many important fights that need our attention, time, and money.
> 
> but because these fights for human rights, lives, and civil protections are marathons, not sprints, the fights will not be over any time soon. therefore it's important to take breaks, to rest and recuperate when you are tired so that you don't burn out, emotionally or physically. 
> 
> so, we hope that this chapter helps you all, along with Yuri, rest your hearts and feel more prepared to face your daily battles.
> 
>   
> _content warning: consensual underage sex with a significantly older partner._  
> 

*

*

*

Wednesday. They've been home for more than 24 hours, and Yuri's been asleep for most of those. He texted Viktor on Tuesday morning after his doctor's appointment, letting him know the injury was nothing that ten days of RICE couldn't cure, and Viktor again told him to rest well, and goodnight. He's not surprised he hasn't heard from Yuri since then, and he's not disappointed, either...not exactly.

Restless, perhaps, is the best word for it. Yuri's at Lilia's with just his cat to watch over him, while the rest of the team (and Yuuri) works out their post-Worlds kinks and aches at the rink, Yakov enjoys his vacation (Belize, maybe? Viktor hadn't really been listening), and Lilia works her students over at the dance studio. Except for Yuri, everyone's busy doing something.

Which should mean that as soon as his enforced stillness gets far enough under his skin, Viktor will be hearing from Yuri.

Probably.

Yuri tends to stick to his bedroom at Lilia's. It's not that he's not allowed in the rest of the house or anything, but it's all very formal with antique furniture and decorations that Yuri is always afraid he'll break simply by looking at.

The first thing he does when he wakes up Wednesday morning is take a bath, followed by breakfast of a banana and some light kefir which he eats in his room. He spends a few hours indulging in playing video games, but eventually that gets boring, too. He'd like to get an Uber to the rink but he's been told in no uncertain terms that he's not to set foot in the building. But he's bored and lonely, so he pulls out his phone, opens Whatsapp, and shoots off a message to Viktor.

[To Vitya: save me from 逐 by boredom]

Yuri's not expecting an immediate answer, so he fucks around on his phone for a while until the reply comes in, which he assumes Viktor’s sending while he checks his phone while he’s on a break. 

_[I'm not going to go over Lilia's and Yakov's heads on this, I'm sorry~]_

Yuri frowns and replies. [I didn't ask you to]

_[I know you didn't. Maybe I'm reminding myself~]_

[okay, but i'm still bored. i don't know what to do when i'm not skating]

_[I know, Yura. I wish I could come keep you company.]_

[you could. lilia won't be home until late]

_[Oh, you mean like that.]_

[not necessarily]

_[I don't think I should. You need to rest your knee.]_

[watching a movie or something wouldn't bother my knee]

_[Mmm-hmm.]_

[if you don't want to just say so] Annoyed and frustrated, Yuri tosses his phone to the end of the bed as soon as he's hit "send."

Viktor frowns. _[If that was what I meant, that would have been what I said.]_

Yuri hears the notification and tries to ignore it but doesn't succeed for long.

[whatever. i'll let you get back to the ice]

Viktor expected a quick answer, and had held on to his phone in anticipation of that. He smiles, thin, at the message. Yuri's so cranky. Viktor can't blame him. He himself gets downright ornery when he's on ice ban. He can relate.

_[Can I call you after practice?]_

[fine]

It'll be a good few hours before Viktor is done at the rink so Yuri grabs his laptop and opens Netflix, choosing a show he's seen a thousand times. He's asleep again within minutes, Potya tucked behind his knees and purring softly.

* 

Viktor doesn't expect Yuri to answer on the first ring, but he does expect he'll at least get to it before it goes to voicemail. It takes a few more rings than he expected until there's a click and a sleepy, heart-meltingly warm "Hi" in his ear.

"Yura," he coos, and holds the phone closer to his cheek. "Hello. Did I wake you?"

Yuri slides the phone between his head and the pillow so he doesn't have to hold it and snuggles down into the comforter. "Mmm, yeah, but it's okay. How was practice?"

"Aa, I'm still a stiff old man," Viktor chuckles. "It went fine. Georgi was subdued today, I think he may be in a new relationship. He's always quietest when it's going well, have you noticed that?"

"I try not to pay more attention to him than I strictly have to. So no. God. I wonder how long this one will last." Yuri wrinkles his nose.

"I suppose that depends on how much time they spend apart or together," Viktor muses. "I still can't figure out whether he'd be better off quitting Instagram entirely. The upside would be he might not scare them away with his pining as quickly; the downside… well, that would mostly be a downside for us, I think. I gave up on giving him relationship advice years ago."

"He just needs to learn to fucking chill. But I don't want to talk about Georgi. Where are you?"

"Headed for the train," Viktor says, shifting his scarf. "I was going to head back to my place. Why?"

Oh. "Just wondering."

"Yuuuu~ra," Viktor carols. "You're never 'just wondering.'"

Yuri shrugs even though Viktor can't see it, and tries to think of something to say. "Well I was this time."

"No you weren't," Viktor says, placid. "Why do you want me to come over so badly?"

"I'm just fucking bored, okay?" And by bored he means lonely. He isn't actually a sociable person, but he's not used to spending a lot of time totally alone, either.

"I'm sorry, Yura," Viktor says, feeling mildly irritated by Yuri's pique, though he's not sure why. Yuri's always piqued. "I know being off-ice is horribly boring. It drives me mad when I am."

He casts around for ideas that might help. "Oh, have you spoken with Otabek today? How's he doing after Worlds? Will we be seeing him at any of the shows?"

"He's fine, I guess. He'll be doing most of the shows with us, so he's spending time at home with his family between now and then."

"They're still in Almaty, yes?" Viktor juggles his phone and his transit pass, hefting his skate bag more securely onto his shoulder.

"I think most of his extended family are still in Astana, but his parents are in Almaty, yeah." Potya hops up onto his hip and he reaches up to pet her absently.

"Oh, damn, I should have remembered that," Viktor says. "He told me not that long ago, too."

The station gate clatters when he passes through it; after that there's a staircase up to the elevated track, and the wind gets sharper and colder as he climbs, whistling in the speaker of his phone so loudly even he can hear it. "Sorry about the noise, I'm outside," he mutters, cupping his phone in his hands. "Oh. Have you eaten enough today?"

Yuri lifts his head away from his phone as the wind whistles loudly right into his ear. He puts it back down when the noise fades and catches the end of Viktor's question. "I had breakfast, and then fell asleep, so that's it."

Viktor presses his phone against his ear with his shoulder and shakes his coat cuff down until he can see the clock on the idle screen of his pulse monitor. "It's late," he mutters. He comes to a decision quickly, and turns around the way he came, trotting down the stairs of the platform back to the street level. From there, after he crosses the street, there's another set of stairs on the opposite side of the elevated platform, serving the trains that go the opposite way, away from his apartment.

"I'm going to pick something up," he says, addressing Yuri properly. "You said Lilia won't be home til late, do you think I should get her a portion too? She could always warm it up later."

"She said there's a late rehearsal at Mariinsky so not to expect her before eleven at the earliest. She'd probably appreciate it." Part of him wants to tell Viktor he doesn't need to bring him food, but Viktor's coming over and that's the important part.

"Okay~" Viktor sings, feeling lighter already. "I should be there in, umm... an hour, perhaps three-quarters of, if I'm lucky at the store. Ok~?"

Yuri smiles at the light tone of VIktor’s voice. "Okay. Thanks, Vitya."

Viktor pops his lips at the microphone of his phone, mimicking a smacky loud kiss, and ends the call.

* 

Once the call is over Yuri hauls himself up out of bed. He's still just wearing a tank top and underwear, so he pulls on leggings and swaps out the top for a slightly-too-large sweater. Last but not least he grabs a pair of fuzzy socks. He ducks into the bathroom and brushes his teeth, then pulls his hair up into a messy bun that Lilia would hate. He proceeds into the kitchen where he pulls an ice pack out of the freezer, then unlocks the door before settling in on the sofa with his foot on the coffee table and the ice on his knee. Might as well use his time waiting productively.

It ends up being just under an hour until Viktor’s standing at Lilia's door carrying two bags of food - one containing a generous selection of hot pirozhki, the other containing a smaller selection of bottled diet fizzy drinks and zero cal flavored waters - and his skate bag. He knocks, and hears Yuri’s voice from further inside the house telling him to just come in.

"Unlocked? Yura. Tsk." Viktor's lightly chiding as he comes in the door, toeing it shut behind him. "I come bearing a delivery for the invalid Prince," he jokes, cutting a cheery, silly curtsy. "Ooh, I like that sweater."

Yuri knows he looks good in the soft, blue sweater - it's why he'd chosen it. "Thanks. And I only unlocked it before I sat down." He points at the ice pack on his knee. "Got another couple of minutes before I can take it off." 

Viktor kneels down on the floor in front of the coffee table, facing the couch, and begins laying out the food he's brought. The pirozhki each have their own wrappers, and there's napkins in the bag, so they don't really need to bother with dishes. He looks up at Yuri intermittently as he sorts everything out, then sits back to let Yuri take his first pick of the spread. 

"You're very welcome," Viktor says. "You should wear that color more often."

Yuri's watch timer goes off, so he removes the ice pack and puts it in the bag with the drinks to keep it from dripping on the table. He grabs a meat, and a vegetable pirozhki, and a diet Coke and leans forward to eat over the table. Lilia insists that eating be done in the kitchen or at the desk in his room, and he's not going to leave a literal trail of breadcrumbs to give away the fact that there was food in the living room.

"Thanks for coming over. Sorry I was a brat earlier."

Viktor laughs, airy. He's claimed the two pirozhki Yuri didn't choose, and busies himself with tenting open the wrappers to let them cool off a little. "You surprise me, Yura. I wasn't expecting an apology. I just had to remind myself how difficult it was for me when I was stuck off ice, and it was easy to understand your frustration."

Yuri shrugs with one shoulder. "I am usually aware when I'm being a dick, and contrary to what people may think sometimes I am sorry about it. And I do know how to apologize. And I shouldn't have taken it out on you just because I'm on house arrest."

Viktor's gaze is steady. "I know you know how, Yura, goodness. I just meant I didn't think I'd get one today. You seem to be feeling much calmer than you were even just an hour ago. I'm glad." He smiles, all heart mouth, between bites of his meal. "Was it the promise of pirozhki that did it?"

"Sorry," Yuri says again. "The pirozhki helped, for sure, but that wasn't all of it."

Viktor lifts one brow, and makes a concerted effort not to let his smile curl at the corners. To keep it under control, he focuses on his food, and swallows, before he speaks. 

"Oh? What else, then?"

Yuri rolls his eyes but smiles around his mouthful of food. "As if you didn't know."

Viktor's eyes twinkle, scrunched in the corners. "Maybe I want to hear you say it."

Yuri knows Viktor is mostly teasing, but he's suddenly filled with so many deep feelings that really need to be addressed at some point that his chest hurts a bit. "I missed you," he says softly.

Viktor nods, once, deliberately still and steady. "I know," he says softly. There's many things he could say, most of them no fun -- _you know we'll have to be apart for longer times; it was only two days; did you miss me or were you just bored and lonely?_ \-- and he silences them all. That's all stuff that needs to be addressed, but not right now, not right...on the edge of this conversation.

"Is it bad that I feel a little pleased by that?" he asks instead, properly sheepish (or close enough to it). "It's not that I like you being sad, of course."

"I'm pleased you're pleased by that, rather than annoyed." Yuri’s got half of his meat pirozhki left and he wraps it back up for later, then begins tidying the other wrappers up. Partly it's a guilty conscience for eating out here, and part of it is a sudden onslaught of nerves.

"What might I have been annoyed about?" They're dancing around the topic, but Viktor's pretty sure it's not due to intentional avoidance on either of their parts. They're just both looking for the entrance, the way to unlock the conversation into something with a path they can follow - even if it's a maze from there on in, they have to find the door first.

"I just don't want to be annoying and clingy." Yuri’s got everything condensed to one bag now, which means he’s out of reasons to fiddle or to focus on something else.

"By wanting me around?"

Yuri shrugs, and flicks at imaginary crumbs on the table.

Viktor frowns. "Or by wanting to be around me?"

"Both. Either."

"Well, they're both important, but they're different," Viktor says, gently pressing. "And I would be more worried about one than the other."

Yuri's not quite sure he sees the difference and isn't sure what the "right" answer is. He just knows that he doesn't want Viktor to leave him again.

Viktor sighs, heavily, and pushes himself up from the floor. Leaving his wrappers in a small pile on the table, he circles the near end, and sits down on the couch next to Yuri, hip pressed closely against Yuri's. He leans forward, elbows braced on his knees, gaze drifting around on the crumbless table.

"We have to talk about this," Viktor says. Then, realizing what that sounded like: "About us. About what we are now."

Yuri nods and tries to tell himself it'll all be okay, but he's not sure if he believes himself. "Not in here, though. Help me finish cleaning up?"

Viktor smiles, sits up. "Okay." He leans in, kisses Yuri's temple, and stands. Taking Yuri's cue, he helps clear away the leftovers and trash, puts the unfinished drinks in the refrigerator, and uses a damp cloth to polish the table clean once it's all cleared off.

"So, where...?"

"My room." It should probably feel weird taking Viktor to his bedroom, but the rest of the house makes him feel so uncomfortable that escaping to his room is a relief.

In the doorway of Yuri's bedroom, Viktor hesitates. It's minimally furnished, and while there is a desk, and a desk chair, which saves Viktor from having to sit on the bed beside Yuri, he's not sure whether that's where Yuri wants him, either.

"May I?" Asking permission to enter the room, as though Yuri's room is his home all to itself, separate from the rest of Lilia's house, feels right.

"Yeah, of course." Yuri climbs onto his bed and settles, cross-legged, hauling Potya into his lap where she curls up and begins to purr. He's made sure to leave room for Viktor to sit on the bed as well, if that's what he wants.

Viktor considers his options. Both have pluses and minuses. He decides to take the desk chair for now, but scoots it closer to Yuri rather than staying further away across the room.

"Does little Potya have to stay in your room all the time?"

"No, she's allowed in most of the rest of the house, but since I spend most of my time in here, so does she." He smooths the long hair on her face back then scratches her neck, smiling softly down at her. He'd snuck her into the dorm when she was a tiny kitten and nobody had been brave enough to tell him he couldn't keep her.

"That's a relief. I know Lilia likes to keep her house appallingly spotless, but still, a little princes shouldn't be caged up for the sake of keeping paw prints off of tables."

Yuri wants to say that he's pretty sure Lilia likes Potya better than she likes him. "She's a good girl," he says instead.

"She certainly seems to be," Viktor says, smiling at her. She doesn't seem interested. "Can I try holding her, later?"

"Sure. She's not too fussy." He bites his lip and gently twists his fingers into Potya's fur then releases, twists, releases. "So..."

Viktor exhales. Crosses one knee over the other, and lays his palms together over that. "So." He smiles. He's always smiling. He can't tell if that's good, or if it's because he's nervous. "Like I was saying.... We need to talk about this. Us."

Yuri nods again. "Yeah."

"How would you..." Viktor stops, rephrases. "What would you say we are to each other, Yura?"

"I don't know," he answers honestly. "I don't think I've ever known, really."

Viktor sighs. He's wry, and honest. "I don't think I could say it better myself. You've always defied category for me." He laughs, mirthless. "Which was quite the headache for a very long time, you know."

"Sorry?" One corner of Yuri’s mouth twitches up although he knows it's not funny.

Viktor does laugh, then, and it feels like relief. "You aren't!"

Yuri finally raises his eyes to actually look at Viktor and now he smiles properly. They still haven't really said anything, but somehow the mood has shifted and he feels slightly less like the world is going to crash down around his head.

The air does feel better. It feels like they can do this.

"Well, if we can't define what we are... What do you want us to be, then?"

 _Everything_ is what springs to Yuri’s mind, but that might be a bit much. "Together? Like..." He casts about, trying to think of anyone they know that he could use as an example. Oh God. Seriously? Why are all of their friends single?! "Like fucking JJ and Isabella but less fucking egotistical and obnoxious and straight."

Viktor splutters. "Well, you won't need to worry about straight around me."

"Yeah, well, as far as I'm concerned girls still have cooties."

"Oh," Viktor says, distracted momentarily. "Not that it-- I'm not judging, obviously, but for curiosity's sake. Not bi?"

Yuri shakes his head. "Nope. Always knew girls were not my thing."

Viktor can't help his proud smile. So sure of himself, so straightforward, so unapologetic. Yura...

"Ah. I had thought, maybe, but... Well, of course, it's rude to assume. Thank you for telling me," he says, and stumbles a little over where to go next. What had he gotten distracted from? Oh. Right.

"So, together, mm?" Viktor controls his tone very carefully: warmly neutral. He doesn't want to lead Yuri toward any particular direction; he wants Yuri's most honest answers.

"I... yeah. Like... I don't just want to fool around sometimes and then just... go our separate ways until next time."

"You don't want this just for sex, then," Viktor says, and there's abruptly a tinniness in his ears. He ignores it. "You want to have a proper relationship. As..." He pauses. This is a word neither of them have yet said, and it will change the atmosphere after he says it. But that's what this conversation is about. They have to talk about this. "Boyfriends?"

Yuri wrinkles his nose. "Ugh. Yes, basically, but just... 'boyfriends' doesn't seem to fit us."

Viktor tips his head. "Really? Okay. What do you think fits us better?"

"I don't know. Vitya and Yura? I don't ... I don't like labels." He's been over it in his head and can't think of a single word that seems to suit them, or what he wants them to be.

"I understand, but Yura..." Viktor chooses his words carefully. "Without a label, we should be even more careful to communicate what we expect from each other. So this doesn't all go wrong."

"Like you said, I want us to have a proper relationship. I don't like the word 'boyfriends' but if that's how you have to think of us, then yeah, I guess."

"I didn't say we have to use that label, or that I have to use it," Viktor corrects him. "I just want to be clear on what you want from me, and what I can give you. And vice versa, as well."

Yuri nods again. "And what..." his mouth has gone dry and he tries to swallow. "What do you want?"

Viktor's heart is beating oddly: tight, uncomfortable. He exhales. It doesn't help much.

"I want to be honest with you about how important you are to me. How much of my attention and desires and thoughts you occupy. I want to act on those. I want to show you intimacy, and receive it in return."

"I don't know if that constitutes the real relationship that you want, though. Because everything that I want with you, I'm prepared to hide behind closed doors."

"Could you live with that? Really?" Viktor is pretty sure he knows the answer, but he's not sure if Yuri knows it. He also recognizes he could be wrong, but...Yuri is sixteen, and in love, and not the kind of person to whom hiding comes naturally.

Yuri nods. "I couldn't live with that forever, but I don't think we'll have to. But yes, I can live with that for now, and for the foreseeable future. And yes, I know what it means. We couldn't be seen doing anything that couldn't be explained away by us being rinkmates and friends."

"It's more than that," Viktor says slowly. "It means I can't make you a priority the way that I would, if we were able to have a proper, normal relationship. If I prioritize you, make you the center of my world, I won't be able to explain away why. So it's not just individual actions, but a whole mentality that has to be different. I can't spend every night with you by default without needing to explain. I can't let myself make you the first person I call for everything in my life, good or bad. I can't always move with you as a pair in public, always sitting together, always making decisions together."

Now his lungs hurt in the same way his heart has been.

"Does any of that sound fair to you, Yura? Does any of that sound like how you want me to treat you? Because it doesn't sound to me like how I'd like to treat you. How you deserve to be treated."

"Then it's a good thing skaters tend to move in groups, isn't it?" Yuri sighs. "It's not ideal. And of course it's not how I want it to be. But I'll take it, Vitya, because the alternative..." He's bombarded with memories and feelings from the past few years, from the last year and his stomach twists. "I can't do that again."

Viktor wets his lips. He's surprised by his own voice when he speaks. It's timid. Tiny. "'That'?"

Yuri shrugs. "I don't want to not be near you at all. To not have any part of you."

"I can promise you that you'll never feel that way again," Viktor says. "It's never been true. You've always had part of me. But I did put my all into lying to you. Hiding that fact from you." There's no apology to be made; it's too big for an apology, if one is needed. And if one isn't, well, that's up to Yuri.

"I'll take whatever you can give me, Vitya. Please..." He doesn't care that it's not fair to him, or that Viktor thinks he deserves better. Viktor is all he wants, is all he ever has wanted.

Viktor recoils. Just a bit, but.

"That's horrible, Yura. I won't make you beg for scraps like that. I would never…” He pauses. "I would never want to do that to you," he amends. _For all you protest, you have already done it, haven't you._

It feels like it's all falling apart and Yuri moves Potya off his lap, pulling his knees up to his chest. _Please don't take this away from me. Please don't let Boston be a "what could have been"._ But he can't give it voice, because it's too much like begging.

Viktor stands, pushing the chair away, and crosses to the bed. He sits down next to Yuri, facing him, and pulls him sideways, so his shoulder hits Viktor's chest and Viktor can bury his face in Yuri's hair. Yuri's starting to shake again.

_Would it have been better if I had never crossed this line? Would he have been in more pain from having lost me, or is he now in more pain from fearing he will again?_

"Yura, believe in me."

Viktor doesn't know what he means by that. He just knows...he just knows he wants to protect Yuri. Even if that means protecting him from Viktor himself.

"Just tell me we can try,” Yuri mutters, “and trust me to tell you if I'm unhappy. And then don't try to fix it by deciding you're not good enough and leaving."

With the tips of his fingers poised delicately against Yuri's jawline like holding fine china, Viktor tips Yuri's chin up and meets his gaze steadily. There's so much in Yuri's gaze, mostly fear and want, want for a future that he can't shape on his own. That Viktor has the power to give or deny him.

"I can't promise not to feel I'm not good enough for you," Viktor says. "And I can't promise I won't want to fix it by taking myself away from you. But--"

"I promise I won't make those kinds of decisions by myself. I promise if I'm scared, I'll talk to you about it."

He strokes his other hand over Yuri's temple, fingertips tracking the contours around Yuri's eye, his cheekbone, his brow. "Would that be enough?"

Yuri's eyes flutter shut as warmth spreads from Viktor's gentle touch. "That would be enough." He uncurls himself and leans more into Viktor.

"Then yes, Yura." Viktor smiles, and leans down close, gaze heavy and half-lidded, watching Yuri's gaze, his lips, the movement of his breath. "I will tell you. We can try. We will try."

The knot in Yuri's chest unclenches and he no longer feels like he's about to throw up. Instead he suddenly feels incredibly light, like he might just float away. He grounds himself by leaning forward, closing the small distance between himself and Viktor and kissing Viktor so softly and sweetly, smiling against his lips.

Viktor's own smile, startled and stuttered, huffs out against Yuri's lips as they touch. He lifts Yuri's chin, tipping his mouth to the perfect angle for his kiss. Yuri's soft sweater bunches up under his other hand as he strokes his palm from Yuri's nape to his bare shoulder and then finally onto the airy knit of the sweater. It's made of a fine fiber, fluffier than it is dense, and Viktor thinks, firstly, that it looks like it could have been made from Potya, if it was dyed afterward; and secondly, that the way its wide collar slumps asymmetrically toward Yuri's shoulder, and the way that it frames the flexion of Yuri's collarbones, baring them to Viktor's touch, should be given an award.

He wanted this kiss since the moment the door opened and he'd seen Yuri looking like this. No - since the moment he decided to come over after all.

Yuri absolutely melts against Viktor, humming softly as Viktor's large, warm hand skims over his skin. He shifts himself around to face Viktor, settles between his legs, and brings his hands up to land lightly on Viktor's jaw. Something about being close to Viktor has always comforted him, settled him, from the time he was very small, and he's never been able to explain it, but he could sit here doing this forever.

They shift nearer and kiss, turn and kiss, lean into each other and kiss. Yuri's slowly winding himself around Viktor, and his kiss feels like it's winding its way through Viktor, and this, probably, is what bliss feels like. But then, as he palms Yuri's thigh to press it closer, curling Yuri's legs around his waist, Viktor remembers a very important thing he's forgotten. 

He breaks the kiss immediately, touching Yuri's lips with quelling, discouraging fingers before he can chase Viktor's mouth, or protest. "Aa, aah, Yura, I'm the worst. I completely forgot." Much more efficiently than they wove themselves together, Viktor undoes the weaving, detangling their limbs and rising to stand beside the bed, leaving Yuri sprawled nearer to the middle of it. "I can't believe I almost forgot again."

"Yura, where do you keep the compression wraps?"

Yuri groans. _No, no no nonono, come back!_ he thinks. He looks up at Viktor with Bambi eyes when Viktor gets up, leaving him stranded alone in the middle of the bed. Viktor's talking and Yuri struggles to get his head together enough to focus on what's being said. Where does he keep the what now?

Compression wraps. When is his knee going to finally quit cock blocking him? He collapses back onto the bed and looks up at the ceiling. Seriously? "Bathroom, two doors down. There's a cabinet in the corner." Voice flat.

Viktor leans down, bracing himself with one hand on the mattress near Yuri's shoulder, and kisses him. His tongue lingers as he pulls back. "Thank you~" he hums, and leaves the room.

He's back in less than a minute with the wraps, as well as an ice pack - in a bowl, to keep it from sweating on anything.

"Strip," Viktor says, cheerily matter-of-fact.

Yuri's barely had a chance to recover from that last kiss before Viktor is back with the wrap and an ice pack and is ordering him to strip. He grins and hooks his thumbs into the waist of his leggings, pulling them down slowly and making sure Viktor is watching when he lifts his hips to slide the thin material over his ass.

Viktor is definitely watching, but he's not going to let himself get distracted. It's easy, by reminding himself of the agony Yuri was in during the long travel home - agony which would have been ameliorated, at least in part, by prompt proper care of his injury. Instead, Yuri spent the evening in bed with Viktor, neglecting it, and suffered as a result.

Viktor won't be making that mistake again.

Viktor drags the desk chair over next to the bed, and places the bowl with the ice and the coil of elastic bandage on its seat. Then he sits back down on the bed near the end, beside Yuri's feet. As Yuri's leggings pass his knees, Viktor takes over. One at a time, he cups Yuri's calves in one broad, cool hand and slides the scrunched up fabric down to his ankle with the other. Viktor rests Yuri's heels in his hand, taking time to briefly massage the arch of his foot through his sock, before setting his leg gently down and repeating the process, even more carefully and delicately, with the other leg.

Once Yuri's pants are off, Viktor places them on the seat of the chair and scoots himself a bit closer. Sitting cross legged, Viktor arranges one of Yuri's legs to either side of himself, and drapes Yuri's right knee over his lap, supporting it in a shallow bend. He rubs the muscle of Yuri's hamstrings and calf, above and below his injury, gently pressing and dragging the pads of his fingers over Yuri's skin and the muscle packed underneath.

Yuri had planned on telling Viktor he could do this himself, but as Viktor's fingers skip across his skin and then dig into sore muscles all thoughts of protest flee. 

He's used to being touched, it's an inevitable part of being a skater. Yakov pats his shoulder or his back after a good skate or practice, his choreographers move his arms into the exact position they should be in for a step sequence, Lilia touches him to force that plie deeper, his physiotherapist manipulates him to help work out aches and pains. But Viktor... Viktor handles him carefully, as if he's something precious, and it makes his heart skip in his chest.

He reaches up and snags a pillow, tucking it underneath his head and getting comfortable, relaxing as Viktor takes care of him.

Viktor picks up the elastic bandage, unspooling it into a soft puddle that spills across his lap and Yuri's legs. "Tell me if it's too tight," he says, and begins to wrap Yuri's knee. It's a methodical process, one that can be done slowly or quickly, depending on the need and the circumstances. Today, Viktor takes it slow, indulging himself. He makes every pass of the cloth across Yuri's pale skin into a caress; he lets every touch of his hands linger just a little longer than necessary. 

Despite the deliberation of each of Viktor's movements, the process still isn't a particularly time-consuming one. Yuri's knee is progressively bound, both compressed and stabilised as the pattern of the bandage wrap, and the tension Viktor puts on it, apply just the forces needed, just where they're needed. Placing these bandages takes some measure of experience, some familiarity with what the anatomy under the skin is, and what the goal of the wrapping is. It's not as simple as circling the injured area over and over. And with more experience comes more confidence, less need to unwrap and adjust the progress as it's made.

As he works, Viktor smiles. It's a slow, curling emotion. It starts in his gut and travels upward, drifting and billowing up into his lungs like steam. It expands, warming his skin, warming his heart, and, gradually, quickening his pulse. His gaze rakes the length of Yuri's body, watching him.

Yuri's skin is warm everywhere Viktor touches, and then, as Viktor continues to work, taking his time, everywhere he isn't as well. By the time his knee is securely wrapped, Yuri is flushed and his breathing has gone shallow. He'd been transfixed on Viktor's hands and fingers, watching the way he handled the wrap and and touched and stroked Yuri's skin, but as Viktor finishes and sits back a bit, Yuri finally glances up to Viktor's face, and oh that smile!

Their eyes meet and Yuri reaches out a hand, tracing gently along Viktor's lower lip with his thumb. "There it is," he murmurs.

Viktor purses his lips into a kiss, which he closes around the tip of Yuri's thumb, squeezing just the faintest bit, before letting his lips go lax again. Yuri's thumb drags lightly across Viktor's lip, and Viktor kind of wants to try that little friction again, but more roughly. Viktor's all languid and warm - his eyes, his loose, comfortably sloped posture, his voice, his breath. The only part of him that isn't feeling slow is his pulse, beating along briskly in the background of his awareness.

"There what is?" he asks.

"That smile. Your real one. I missed it." His fingertips trace the line of Viktor's jaw, skate along his cheekbone. "I missed you."

Viktor tips his cheek toward Yuri's caress, eyes closing. He lifts Yuri's right leg off his lap, settling it carefully down on the mattress, and moving his own knees out of the way so he'll be sure not to whack into Yuri's knee by accident. Then, to his right, Viktor cups his hand behind Yuri's left ankle and lifts his leg up. Viktor hooks Yuri's ankle over his own shoulder, and though this spreads Yuri's posture open rather suggestively, Viktor manfully stays focused on the muscle directly in his hands. Calf massages are an easy, almost guaranteed way to make any skater melt; in this case, Viktor gently digs his thumbs in slowly, with methodical, therapeutic pressure.

"My real smile?" Viktor repeats. "Tell me about it. Is it so different?"

Yuri trusts Viktor completely and lets him move and manipulate Yuri as he will. Yuri's ankle on Viktor's shoulder shouldn't tweak his thigh the way it does, but he has to remind himself that he's been limited in his stretching lately. Instead of bracing against the ache he relaxes into it and focuses on the way Viktor's fingers are absolutely fucking magic on his calf.

"Yeah, your real smile. It makes the corners of your eyes crinkle a bit. It's soft, and warm."

Viktor sighs, rests his head against Yuri's ankle, and keeps massaging. He watches Yuri as he does - not just his face, but all of him, for the pleasure of it and for the information it gives. Watching his belly will tell Viktor if his breath catches, in case Viktor presses too hard on a knot and causes pain. If Viktor's making him uncomfortable, physically or emotionally, Yuri'll work his throat and tense his jaw. Every little muscle movement tells Viktor a story. 

In just the same way, Viktor hears, as Yuri explains, Viktor's own little movements and twitches have been telling Yuri stories, too. He warms to think that Yuri can decode them so well. Probably, he has been able to for a long time, and Viktor hasn't been giving him enough credit.

"I think I've been smiling it a lot this evening."

"Mm, sometimes. Hopefully more, though, because I love that smile. I like seeing you happy." With their shift in positions, Yuri can't quite reach Viktor, so he can't brush the hair away from his eye like he's itching to. He smiles up at him anyway.

Viktor's heart squeezes. To hear Yuri say 'love' so easily - not about pirozhki or leopard print or skating, but about Viktor, about one of Viktor's qualities - Memories too strong to handle bang up against the outside of his brain, demanding to be let in. Later, he promises himself. Later, I'll revisit it all. 

For now, thinking about the past, and about why it's been so long since Yuri speaking so warmly about Viktor was a regular occurrence - that's all thorny, and it will wait. Viktor likes this moment right here, right now. 

He kisses Yuri's leg again, higher up, and scoots a bit further up the bed. Letting Yuri's leg down from his shoulder, resting it instead against his own hip for support and a more comfortable low angle, Viktor slides his hands up Yuri's thigh. His hamstrings are tight here, all the more so, Viktor quickly remembers, because he's probably been skipping most of his limbering exercises because of his knee. So Viktor goes carefully, rolling his palms and the heels of his hands across the muscles of Yuri's inner thigh and back of thigh in broad strokes, heavy enough not to tickle. Yuri's skin is so pale, so smooth, and so warm, and Viktor pinches his lip between his teeth.

"You really look good in that sweater," he says quietly. The blue knit is rucked up over one of Yuri's hipbones, and hangs low and baggy over the other. One shoulder and one side of his neck are left bare by it, save for one delicate wisp of hair that's escaped the hold of the loose bun he had piled the rest of it into. And all of this contrasts starkly with the smooth fabric of his black boxer briefs wrapped snug around his thighs, peeking out from under the blue.

Yuri forces himself to keep still as Viktor works his thigh. But he's very sensitive there, which sometimes makes his visits to the physio a bit uncomfortable.

Viktor rakes his eyes up Yuri's body and Yuri smiles, smug. He knows how he looks, and he's glad to see the effect he's having on Viktor. "I'm glad you like it. It's one of my favorites, so I'm sure you'll see it again."

Viktor digs in his thumb, hard, on a point that had previously earned a little tiny twitch from Yuri. How much more of a reaction can he get from him?

"That's good to know," Viktor says, pressing another kiss into Yuri's skin. He's going to drag this out if he can, teasing himself as much as Yuri. "I'll be sure to be careful of it, since you like it so well."

Yuri gasps as Viktor's thumb digs into the tight spot on his hamstring, shifting his hips a bit. "Yes, please. I'm very fond of it."

Viktor hums, pleased. That's the kind of reaction he was looking for. He soothes the pressured point, stroking around the full of Yuri's thigh now, following each muscle group's swell and dip.

He keeps his voice light, unstrained. "Do you know where you got it? I'd like to get you one in another color, too."

"I picked it up in France a couple years ago. Can't remember the name of the shop." Viktor's voice may still be light, but Yuri’s having a hard time keeping his own under control.

He's having a hard time keeping other things under control, too, as Viktor continues to focus on his thigh. He's still keeping his touch just firm enough to stay on this side of ticklish, but it's still a sensitive area.

 _God, Yuri sounds so good._ Viktor loves it. The tremble in Yuri’s voice - barely audible, but it's there, and slowly growing - is magnetic. Viktor wants to keep him talking, just to hear his voice fall apart. Viktor decides to give Yuri a break, just a little one, and strokes all the way down Yuri's thigh to the safer end, his knee. He applies his focus there, working on the doubled muscle of Yuri's calf, just under his knee with heavy kneading rolls of his knuckles and thumb.

"That's too bad," Viktor sighs, pouting. "I wanted to buy you an emerald green one."

"God, Vitya, I'm never going to my massage therapist again. I'm just going to let you do it from now on." The knots and aches are melting away like butter under Viktor's hands.

"I'm sure you could find a similar green one if you looked."

"Don't say that!" Viktor laughs. "Your massage therapist's skill would put mine to shame any day," he says, and presses a shallow, scraping, toothy kiss to Yuri's skin, just above his knee. "I just play around~"

  
As if to demonstrate, Viktor turns his thumb sideways and presses, running the side of his knuckle and his fingernail directly along the groove between two of the muscle groups he's thoroughly worked over. It's an unidentifiably unique sensation the first few times you feel it, and pleasurable every time - similar to fingernails scratched up your back, but as though it's happening from within somehow. The surface nerves and the nerves deeper in the muscle tissue tangle up their signals and get confused. Viktor likes it as much for how pleasurable it feels as he does for how effectively it confuses, even when you know it's coming.

Yuri's breath catches in his throat and tingles run up his spine. What the hell was that?!

It's a few moments before Yuri can speak again. "Shit. Um. You're wearing too many clothes. I'm all laid out here in just a sweater and underwear and you're still wearing layers? Not fair."

Viktor watches Yuri's response, waits. "Did that feel good?"

"God yes. That was... I've never felt that before." And he's not going to ask who Viktor learned it from.

"I'm taking care of you, Yura," Viktor says, the purest picture of reasonableness. He's definitely not hiding a tiny smirk. His palm cups the underside of Yuri's thigh, high up, and kneads the muscle gently. "Are you not enjoying it?"

"Oh, I'm definitely enjoying it, but it doesn't require you to wear so many clothes." Yuri reaches out and tugs lightly at the hem of Viktor's sweater.

"Aa, yes yes," Viktor grumbles, all for show. To be honest, knowing he's pleasured Yuri, not dragged nails up a chalkboard, sensation-wise, lets Viktor breathe much easier. "Oh, I'm glad. It's so strangely good, isn't it? It has to do with stimulating the blood flow between the muscle groups, and the nerves of the membrane wall between each muscle group, and something about left and right brain hemispheres. I can't quite remember the details past that."

As he explains, he sits back and grabs the collar of his heavy sweater, pulling it up over his head and off. His broad shrug of 'I'm not a professional, that's as much as I know,' is delivered while his head is still halfway inside the sweater.  
  


"It's different, but yeah, that was really nice." And then he's distracted because as Viktor tugs his sweater off, the shirt he's wearing starts to go along with it, revealing a glimpse of Viktor's abs before the sweater is off and the shirt settles again. Yuri is left wanting to explore the area with his teeth and tongue.

Viktor tosses the sweater over the back of Yuri's desk chair, shakes his hair out, and turns his attention back with mischief in his eyes. 

"Well, good. But just wait til I show you where else I can do that."

Yuri bites his lip and then cocks an eyebrow at the look in Viktor's eye. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Viktor promises. His voice is syrupy, and he holds Yuri's gaze without a flicker. "Another time. I had other plans for today."

"Mean," Yuri grumbles. "You're just mean. And you're still wearing more clothes than I am."

"You don't even know what my plan is, and you already don't like it." Viktor pouts. "And can't I stay dressed and spoil you? Is that bad?"

Yuri sits up and leans in to kiss the pout away. "I'm sorry. I'll let you go ahead with your plan, I'm sure I'll enjoy it."

As soon as Yuri kisses him, Viktor's got one hand raked roughly into Yuri's hair, cupping the back of his head to keep him close through the kiss. And once it's done, he doesn't let that hand drop as Yuri dances fingertip patterns onto his skin - much the opposite, his fingers spasm against Yuri's scalp, and Viktor can't even care even a little bit about the leverage that that loses him, in this conversation of playful one-upmanship.

Yuri’s hands slide up under the back of Viktor's shirt, fingers tracing idle patterns on Viktor's skin. "It’s just that, you get to look at me, and I want to get to look at you, too."

Viktor licks his lips, staring at Yuri's. "If it bothers you...you should take it off of me."

No sooner are the words out of Viktor's mouth than Yuri's pulling back just far enough to pull Viktor's shirt up and off over his head. He's back in momentarily for another kiss, then he's backing off again, leaning away to get a good look at Viktor. "You're beautiful, Vitya," he breathes. He knows it's nothing Viktor hasn't heard a thousand times before, but that doesn't make it untrue.

He licks his lips and finally gives in, kissing a path along Viktor's collarbone.

Viktor sways with Yuri, pulled toward him as the tee tugs free of him one arm at a time; pushed away as Yuri leans back and just drinks him in, with a gaze that transfixes. Beautiful, he says, and Viktor lets his head fall back as he tips forward again, back into Yuri's arms and Yuri's mouth. He didn't really mean to speak his thought out loud, but he does.

"It feels different when you say it."

Heart thudding heavy as a kettle drum, Viktor opens his mouth and breathes in soft gasps as Yuri's mouth outlines his contours. One hand at Yuri's nape, the other gripping thick, lofty blue knit at his waist, Viktor leans down, nearer, granting full reign of his body from throat to waistband, and any kissable or biteable planes thereupon, to Yuri.

"Yura..."

Yuri takes Viktor up on the invitation, taking his time exploring in a way he's wanted to but hasn't before. He kisses and licks and nips his way down the center of Viktor's chest to his stomach, humming when he hears his name. He nips again just above the waistband of Viktor's pants and then traces the outline of Viktor's ribcage with the tip of his tongue.

"Yu-Yura--" This wasn't the plan. Viktor had meant to make Yuri breathless, to unravel him into component parts, and now he was the one being frayed at the seams. 

But it was hard to mind too much, as Yuri's tongue tracks paths that are teaching Viktor new ways to give him goosebumps. Yuri's soft, fuzzy sweater, contrasted with his smooth skin, featheringly soft hair and eyelashes brushing Viktor's skin as Yuri tips his head close enough to taste and bite and lick everything he wants to.

Sitting cross legged is no longer sufficient, no longer comfortable, and Viktor manages enough clearance between their bodies for just long enough to get himself up onto his knees, and then tip forward, til he's a cage on hands and knees over Yuri. He breathes deep, steadying himself, and his knuckles curl in the bedsheet. His head hangs down low, shoulder blades standing proud, and he blinks down at Yuri sheepishly. 

"Is this okay? I don't want you to have to kneel, but I--" Viktor licks his lips. "You can reach more, easier, this way, I think."

"Are you comfortable like that? I know you're worried about my knee, but I can figure out how to work around that." Yuri reaches up to lightly run his fingers along Viktor's side.

Viktor laughs, and then shudders, as that feathering touch sends his nerves into confused spasms. "It'll be fun," he breathes, reaching down for a kiss that goes deep, and a bit clumsy, and leaves both their mouths wet as they part. "You can try to make my elbows buckle."

Yuri shakes his head and grins. "If you say so." His fingers run the same path along Viktor's side again and then up onto his back, tracing program patterns.

He takes his time mapping every plane and contour of Viktor's torso with his lips and teeth and tongue, taking a bit of pride in every hitched breath, every muscle twitch. Eventually he feels brave and comfortable enough to drag his tongue across one of Viktor's nipples. He's pretty sure Viktor won't react negatively but he also knows not all guys are turned on by it, either.

With a shattered kind of groan, Viktor bucks downward, pushing his chest against Yuri's broad flat wet tongue. His mouth's been hanging half-open, lax, as he draws heavy breath, focusing on Yuri's touches. Now, his mouth opens deliberately, a wide o, and he croons weakly.

(Yeah. He likes it.)

"Yura..."

Yuri smiles and drags his tongue over that nipple again before teasing it with the tip of his tongue until it hardens and he can snag it with his teeth. One hand is still tracing patterns on Viktor's back, and the other comes up to settle on Viktor's hip, his fingers dipping down under the waist of his pants.

Viktor makes a wordless sound of effort, an odd creak, as Yuri’s teeth challenge his composure. His far elbow buckles; the near side holds, and his chest swells as he sucks breath, hissing, biting his lip through the rush.

"Oh god, Yura, Yura, oh god, yes." 

Viktor pushes against Yuri's mouth, begging for more. As soon as he realizes he's closed his eyes, he opens them again, and looks down, seeking Yuri's gaze. He can't see it, of course, because Yuri's suckling his nipple, scraping his teeth against the bud, against the lower curve of Viktor's pectoral, dedicated in focus and wickedly dextrous. From Viktor's angle, he can admire the birds' nest of Yuri's hair, looped up in a loose, messy cluster and held down with one elastic. He shifts his weight to one hand - a challenging prospect, and his belly trembles as he braces his center of gravity with his core, shifting his hips back to keep his balance. Yuri's fingers in his waistband tug lightly, and Viktor's belly quivers.

It's a precarious three-pointed balance -- especially with Yuri's wicked mouth working to knock him flat with pleasure -- but it's worthwhile, because with one hand free, Viktor can reach up into Yuri's hair, hook his fingers into the thin elastic holding it up and twist, twist, twist, until the frail thing is stretched to its limit, until with one short tug it snaps, and Yuri's hair explodes into freedom, cascading down over Viktor's hand and wrist and forearm, light and bright as spun cornsilk.

Something in Yuri seems to snap right along with his hair tie. With fierce determination he tugs Viktor's pants down over his hips then takes advantage of Viktor's somewhat unsteady balance to roll them over. He sits up just long enough to pull Viktor's pants the rest of the way off, then he settles between Viktor's legs and goes back to work, this time focusing his attention on the other nipple. He needs to hear Viktor again.

"Yur-- Yura! Wait a minute!" 

Yuri is not, clearly, waiting. And Viktor doesn't have any personal problem with what Yuri's suggesting, what he's enacting, but is he really okay moving around that fast, and that much? Between shoves, as Yuri strips him down to his underwear, Viktor manages a glance at Yuri's stance. Well, as far as a kneeling stance goes, that's the best he can have chosen, Viktor thinks distantly, and then Yuri's fingers are scraping over Viktor's hip bones as he shoves him down onto his back, and the lights in Viktor's brain flicker. A few moments later they're back on and he glances down again - much comforted to see that Yuri's laying sprawled now, not putting his weight onto his knee.

This would take up more of Viktor's attention if not for the fact that, by laying between his legs this way, Yuri's got quite a lot of his body weight squarely on top of Viktor's groin, and --

"Yura, Yura, oh--oh God, Yura." Viktor is unashamed by the noises he's making. Yuri's name is wound through the groans of pleasure that his tongue and teeth are wringing mercilessly from Viktor. 

His kitten is vicious, Viktor thinks absurdly, as his back and neck and throat are arching to press his chest up into Yuri's mouth, to beg more of his teeth and suckling lips and strong tongue. One hand tangles into Yuri's loose hair, gripping tight without tethering him down. Viktor feels more like he's the one floating away, and Yuri is his tether.

"Yura, fuck. Oh, oh god." Viktor's vocabulary has been stripped down to its bones. "Oh, god, help, Yura, I- I need--"

Yuri hums happily as he continues working Viktor over. He sucks Viktor's nipple tight between his teeth and flicks it with the tip of his tongue while his fingers tease and play with the other.

He can feel Viktor hard against his stomach and he grinds down, a shiver running down his spine as Viktor's hand clenches in his hair.

Eventually, it's all too much. Lithe, strong, wicked Yuri, rolling his whole body over Viktor, teasing every part of him, and working over his nipples until Viktor is not just seeing stars but past that, to the point where the edges of the things around them are starting to blur. Viktor's mind-numbingly hard, and eventually, from one moment to the next, it's too much to bear any longer.

Viktor has them rolled over in a matter of seconds. Laying chest to chest with Yuri beneath him, Viktor leans down to kiss him silly but immediately rears back with an overstimulated hiss. The fine fibers of Yuri's angora sweater are torture on his reddened, abused nipples, and he scrabbles at Yuri's waist, grabbing the sweater's edge, intent on removing it with a singular focus. His hands' grips are far too tight, crushingly firm, but he manages to move with some delicacy, sliding rather than yanking, and the sweater comes free, off of Yuri, chucked to the floor, without harm.

"There," Viktor breathes, shaking. "It stayed clean."

Yuri is very fond of his sweater and is glad to know that it's made it through the ordeal in one piece. But as soon as it's off, he threads his fingers into Viktor's hair and tugs him back down for a searing kiss. His hips push up against Viktor's and Yuri is too far gone to worry about things like timing or elegance as their cocks grind against each other.   
  
Viktor turns his gaze down to Yuri, to find his, to hold his. Viktor's own is blue flame. "Want you," he purrs, drilling his hips down against Yuri's, grinding their cocks together roughly. Viktor braces himself on his forearms, one on either side of Yuri's head. Yuri’s free hand scrabbles for purchase on Viktor's back, his nails digging into skin.

"Fuck, Vitya..." His back arches and his head tips back and he's so close but he forces himself to keep his eyes open and focused on Viktor's.

Viktor lets his head drop low, kissing Yuri in between the high and low points of their rolling grind together. Still braced on his elbows for support, he works one forearm under Yuri's shoulders and pushes up, clutching Yuri to his chest for a few long moments of emotion as they move together. That wave recedes, and it's back to pure lust, pure fixation.

Nose to nose, Viktor bites at Yuri's lips, feeding words between his lips as they kiss and he punches his hips down and forward, down and forward, rolling the angles together in strong, sure arcs.

"Someday. Yura, someday. Like this." Viktor's tongue licks Yuri's lips, suggesting, approximating. "I'll take you like this. I'll go the whole way into you."

Words are lost to Yuri and he whines against Viktor's lips. He wants, he needs. The promise of "someday" is lost on him now, but it will percolate through later. Right now he's hanging on by a fraying thread as his entire body feels as though it's unraveling.

"Yura." Viktor can feel Yuri shaking in his arms, moments from dissolution, and he dips near, presses his mouth to Yuri's: a kiss, a breath shared. Pressing Yuri beneath him with his body weight, Viktor grabs Yuri's thigh and hoists his leg up over Viktor's hip, spreads Yuri wide beneath him, and rolls their bodies together with a thick, choked moan.

That's all it takes to push Yuri over the edge and he cries out, nails digging in hard and back arched completely off the bed despite Viktor's weight holding him down. Everything fades away and he's drifting.

Viktor cradles Yuri to his chest as his orgasm runs its course. Slowly he shakes less, and then he's quiet, still save for his heart and breath rushing in his chest. Viktor holds him close, stroking sweat-slicked hair back from Yuri's face, kissing his cheeks and his throat, petting long soothing strokes down his arms, down his sides. Viktor hasn't come yet, but it's waiting its turn, because this, Yuri limp and exhausted and beautiful in his arms...

This is precious, profound in a way that a single orgasm can't measure up to. 

Viktor talks quietly to Yuri while he drifts, murmured trivialities: about the people he encountered at the grocery, about a stray cat he met, about his opinions on Lilia's decorating sense. Quiet things, everyday things. Familiar things.

When Yuri finally comes back around, it's to Viktor telling him about Makkachin and a squirrel and... what?

He lets Viktor talk for a few more moments while he takes stock of the situation. He's obviously spent and exhausted, but he can still feel Viktor hard against his thigh. One of these days he's going to outlast Viktor. Not today, obviously, but one day.

"Vitya..." He raises a hand to brush Viktor's hair back. It's nearly long enough now to tuck back behind an ear and he tries, but it just falls back over his face again.

Viktor chuckles, soft, and bumps his head up against Yuri's hand in quiet, grateful bliss. "I'm here." He caresses Yuri's temple, carding his fingers through Yuri's hair, spilled over the pillow like a halo around his head . "Are you back with me, my Yura?"

Yuri smiles and brushes his thumb across Viktor's cheek. "Your Yura. I like that." He's always been Viktor's, even when Viktor pushed him away. He'll never let that happen again.

"Oh, good." Viktor grins and closes his eyes, focusing on feeling. "I'd really be in trouble if you didn't!"

"My Vitya," Yuri hums as he runs the tips of his fingers gently down Viktor's neck and across his shoulder. "My beautiful Vitya."

Viktor swallows through the lump in his throat, pressing his eyes more tightly closed. Yuri's voice is so peaceful, so mild and warm, and Viktor can't process all the emotions that it inspires. Instead he dips back down for a kiss, leading with the gently simple dragging pressure of his lips across Yuri's.

Yuri smiles against Viktor's lips and kisses back just as softly. He's happy to let Viktor set the pace.

Viktor steadies himself with Yuri's lips, then rests, brow to brow, for a few moments. From this range, Yuri's eyes are just a brilliant green blur, and Viktor closes his own again. 

"Are you alright?" he asks finally, quiet. "This... was okay?"

Yuri's hand comes up to rest lightly on the back of Viktor's head.

"Vitya. I'm wonderful, and yes this was okay. Better than okay." He wrinkles his brow and presses another soft kiss to Viktor's lips. "Why wouldn't it be okay?"

"I flipped you, us, kind of roughly," Viktor says, and pushes himself up onto his elbows so that he really can properly see Yuri when he opens his eyes this time. Yuri's quietly confused, and Viktor notices and understands that. (Yuri's not immediately afraid Viktor regrets having sex with him, and Vitor notices that too.)

"And what I said. I want to be sure I didn't get too carried away."

"I promise I'll let you know if I'm ever not okay, or if you ever do get too carried away, okay? You don't need to worry about me so much." He keeps his voice gentle, making sure he doesn't sound irritated, because he's not.

"Maybe I want to," Viktor admits.

"Worry about me, or get too carried away?"

Viktor frowns. "I... Worry about you, you idiot," he says, ignoring the lurch in his stomach, ignoring the heat on the back of his neck.

Viktor's slightly flushed cheeks and blown out pupils betray him but Yuri decides to not bring it up for now. "You're allowed to worry about me, but you don't have to check in all the time. Trust me to let you know if I'm not okay." _Like you did on the way back from Boston?_ ...His inner voice is a bitch.

"Trust me," Viktor counters, not missing a beat, even as he brushes a lock of Yuri's hair forward, curving it along the curve of his cheek. "That the difference between good sex and bad sex is communication." He kisses Yuri again, gentle. "And I always want to have good times with you."

Yuri can feel his cheeks heating up. He's never known how to handle open, honest affectionate words and he makes a concerted effort to not turn and hide his face in the pillow. "Okay, but that means you have to talk to me, too. You have to let me know if I'm not... doing something right, or if you want me to do something I'm not."

"Right?" Viktor frowns. He strokes Yuri's cheek with the back of his knuckles, sympathetic - neither of them have complexions that can hide a blush worth a damn, and neither of them appreciate that fact. "If I don't like it, I'll tell you, but...that wouldn't necessarily mean you were doing something 'wrong'. It actually is... pretty hard to do sex wrong."

"I'm sure I'd find a way," Yuri grumbles. He suddenly feels very, very young.

Yuri's expression plainly shows much of what he's surely feeling conscious of - an acute awareness of the gulf of age and experience between the two of them. He's feeling young and embarrassed and self-conscious. And Viktor can't imagine there ever being less of a reason for him to feel that way.

Viktor laughs. He knows, _knows_ , it won't do anything but make Yuri more embarrassed, but he can't not. "If you tried hard enough, you could do anything you wanted to, Yura, though I'd be very grateful if you didn't decide to punish me with bad sex when I tick you off. Probably I'd prefer a punch. But not there!"

Viktor laughs and Yuri's cheeks burn brighter. "I'm more likely to throw something at you."

"Okay," Viktor says, his voice full to the brim with love. "Yura, listen. Don't be embarrassed, okay? I promise I'll tell you if you do something I don't like in bed, but, honestly...I don't know if it could even happen."

"Okay." He's not sure if he's entirely convinced, but he trusts Viktor.

"Yuuuura." Viktor pokes Yuri's nose. "Aren't you going to ask me why?” 

Yuri rolls his eyes but can't help smiling a tiny bit as Viktor boops his nose. "Why?"

"Because it's you," Viktor says, smug. "I can't imagine not liking sex with you."

"Ohgod." Yuri brings one hand up to cover his face which he just knows is turning bright red.

Viktor feigns innocence. "Is it embarrassing when I say it out loud?" Pause. "'Sex with you'?”

"No... it's not that part."

Viktor wiggles, biting back his giggles only by biting his lower lip. His eyes give him away though. "Then, which part?"

Yuri doesn't know how to put it into words. He's overwhelmed by everything that's happened since the night of the banquet, and especially by the decision they had come to earlier this evening. He's not even come close to getting used to it yet, so to hear Viktor being so open with his affection, especially after keeping so much distance between them for so long... he doesn't know how to process it.

All he can do to answer is lean up to kiss Viktor deeply, tugging Vitkor's lower lip free with his own teeth.

Viktor sighs happily and dips down, giving Yuri his mouth to kiss as he pleases. He touches Yuri's side, stroking up and down over Yuri's trim waist and bony rib cage, relishing the feel of his skin, the way it pebbles with goosebumps in the wake of Viktor's fingers. He slides his hand down to Yuri's hip, then back up, detouring to his chest, the outer slope of his arm and the slope of his shoulder. There's so many contours to memorize and Viktor wants to know them all.

Viktor hasn't realized how much easier all of this is for him than it is for Yuri, because he's not had to recalibrate his knowledge of one of his most important people twice in a week. He's always known how he's felt about Yuri, and he had known for some time how Yuri felt about him, too. Giving in to it all at the gala had given him serious cause for personal crisis - and probably he'll revisit that at some point, since self loathing doesn't just evaporate into the air - but this feels good, this is what he's wanted and denied himself for longer than he can bear to think about. So he's letting himself dive into it, get lost in it. He can’t think of a good reason not to.

Suddenly everything is too much and Yuri isn't quite sure what to do with himself. As usual, Viktor's touch warms him to the bone, but at the moment he kind of wants to squirm away from the touch as well and he can't explain why, not even to himself.

Viktor feels Yuri starting to shut down - his body language goes stiffer, his kiss cools - and pulls back as soon as he notices, rolling to his right, off of Yuri. He arranges himself on his side, head propped up on one arm for vantage, yet again (always) stroking his fingers through Yuri's hair, caressing Yuri and indulging himself, while he studies Yuri's expression. His voice is gentle. "Are you getting tired, Yura?” 

"Not really; I slept most of the day." He looks over at Viktor and reaches out to play with his fringe, twining it gently through his fingers. "Sorry. I just... it's been a lot."

Viktor's brows draw up and together, a soft little worried frown. "I'm sorry. We just jumped right in, didn't we."

"No, stop that." Yuri tries to smooth out the worry wrinkles between Viktor's eyebrows with the pad of a finger. "I just need a chance to catch up with everything."

Viktor lets Yuri smush his forehead, but instead of letting him smooth it out, Viktor pulls his expression into another wrinkled up one, exaggerating the effect of Yuri's pushing. 

"That's what I meant," he says, through the absurd pouty face, before snapping back to his normal earnest expression. "It's been a whirlwind romance so far."

Internally, he flinches, just a little. _Way to go, Nikiforov, using the 'romance' label first. Way to not pressure him._

"It has. But I mean... it's not like we need to go on dates to get to know each other or anything, so it makes sense that we'd just dive right in. It's just..." He stops himself there. He doesn't want to bring up the past few years now. "It's just a lot to process." He kisses Viktor again lightly. "Be patient with me?"

Viktor smiles against Yuri's lips, and hovers close as they part. His hand slips to Yuri's neck, curling possessively over his nape. "Of course. Til the end of me."

"You're a fucking sap," Yuri says with a smile before he tucks himself right in against Viktor.

Viktor beams, all heart mouth and scrunched cheeks. "I am! You are correct." 

Yuri fits against him so well, laid near and pressed tight. Viktor's arms fit around him perfectly; his chest fits perfectly under Yuri's head to pillow it. Viktor kisses the top of his head and holds him tight, feeling like he might vibrate apart into a pile of tiny Viktor-shaped pieces from the happiness emanating from the dark, hungry part of his heart.

_My Yura. I'm never going to give you up._

Yuri grabs the comforter and pulls it up and over them, then presses as close to Viktor as he can get, winding his arms around him and tangling their legs together. No matter how close they are, it never feels close enough.

"Yura..." Viktor isn't displeased; the idea of sleeping the night curled up with Yuri is terribly seductive. But he's very acutely aware of where he is. "I shouldn't sleep. Lilia can't find me here."

"I know. But just stay with me for a few minutes?"

Viktor laughs weakly and kisses the crest of Yuri's ear. He buries his nose in Yuri's hair, nuzzling. "Aaa, I can't say no to you~" 

Yuri presses that last tiny bit closer, wishing absently that he could just crawl inside Viktor, before he nods off.

* * *

Viktor isn't a light sleeper, by any means, but he's the type to always remain a bit on alert, even when fast asleep. He'd hear a key in a door, or a car horn honking on the street below, and those sounds might make their way into his dreams. One thing that he never hears in his dreams, though, is the sound of a cell phone, because he keeps his very strictly silenced so that no ill-timed notifications from friends on the other side of the world, where it's a perfectly acceptable time to spam his chat with cat pictures, will pull him out of his slumber.

So the notification that goes off on Yuri's phone wakes him up immediately.

"Hnm? Yura, your phone..." 

Yuri, on the other hand, can sleep through his phone ringing right in his ear, which Yakov can attest to. So it's not his phone, but rather Viktor that wakes him up. "What? Oh." He reaches for his phone and unlocks it, squinting at his notifications. "Ugh. Just another fucking group chat and why the hell don't they realize I don't want to be part of their chats?" He chucks his phone onto the nightstand. "So not worth waking up for."

Viktor yawns, and kisses Yuri's cheek. "It's good it woke me," he says, with a sigh. "I've got to get going. Imagine if I'd slept any longer!" He shudders for effect, pulling a face. "Ugh. Much worse than a group chat." 

Yuri pouts, but he knows Viktor is right. Mila discovering them was one thing; Lilia finding them would be infinitely worse. "Fiiiiiiiiiine."

Viktor's on the wall side of the bed, with Yuri between him and his clothes. So he pushes himself up onto his hands and knees, bracing one of each on the far side, so he's crouched over Yuri. Then, with a smirk, he continues on, to the edge of the bed and then to stand. Facing away, he stretches, and his back crackles softly as he does, taking his time with it, savoring it. And very deliberately showing off for Yuri.

"Believe me, I certainly don't prefer going out into the chill above staying here with you. But, needs must."

"You're so mean," Yuri grouches as he watches Viktor stretch. He wants to lick and nibble his way down Viktor's spine. But, sadly, that will have to wait for another day. 

"Just making sure we're both equally dismayed by this," Viktor laughs, while he shimmies into his pants. Ugh. He should start packing a change of underwear in his skate bag. "Did you see where my socks ended up?"

"Potya probably batted them under the bed. That's where mine usually end up." Yuri sits up and lets the covers puddle around his waist.

"Mmm. I forgot she was in here," Viktor admits, getting down on his hands and knees to peer under the bed until he locates the purloined socks. "Oops. Sorry, princess, I need these."

"You remembered her name," Yuri belatedly realizes. "I didn't think you'd paid that much attention, or that you would remember now if you had."

Viktor looks up, grinning at Yuri. Possibly his grin is even wider because of his absurd posture, one arm still fishing under the bed for his socks, butt up. "You are unfortunately going to be discovering quite a lot that I've been a complete ass to you about, I think."

"Don't say it like that. You did what you needed to do for both our sakes."

Viktor freezes. Sits back on his haunches, elbows braced loosely on his knees, and fixes Yuri with the most softly bemused half-smile.

"I've never thought of it that way before."

"Sometimes I'm smart."

"You're always smart." Viktor flops down, looking under the bed again, and sighs. "...Can you use some of that smarts to help me get my other sock back from your princess, though? She doesn't look like she wants to share."

"You know, I have socks you can borrow. It might be easiest that way. She's like a dragon with her hoard." 

Viktor laughs, and withdraws his arm. "Probably for the best." He stays sitting on the floor to put on his shirt and sweater.

"Hmmmm. Yura, what time have you been waking up lately?"

Yuri snorts. "Well, today I woke up about ten, but then went back to sleep a few hours later. Yesterday I slept all day. Before that was a competition schedule. So... I have no idea?" He reluctantly gets out of bed and digs around in his dresser for a pair of socks which he chucks at Viktor.

Viktor snorts, standing, and looks around the room blankly for a moment before turning back to Yuri. "Which drawer are the-- Oh, thanks." He sits on the bed's edge and gets them on. It's a lot nicer than bare feet on the cold floor.

"I was asking because I wouldn't want to wake you with a message~"

"Oh, you don't need to worry about that, I sleep through all my notifications. And often my alarm. And the phone ringing straight in my ear."

Viktor gives Yuri a look usually only applied to Yuuri's weaker attempts at scratch spins. "I'm not sure why you're saying these things as if you're bragging~?"

Yuri sticks his tongue out. "Not bragging, just... stating facts."

"Not ones you seem interested in changing anytime soon," Viktor teases.

"If I could figure out how to change it I would. Believe it or not, I don't actually like having Yakov screaming at me until he's blue in the face."

"Hmm." Viktor leans down and gives Yuri a little peck on the lips. "A problem for solving another day. For now, I'd better get going."

Yuri resists the urge to reach out and pull Viktor closer, deepen the kiss. As much as he doesn't want Viktor to leave, he knows he can't stay.

The gentle caress Viktor leaves on the crest of Yuri's cheek as they part suggests he's of the same mind. To keep the desire at bay, Viktor beams, heartmouthed and obnoxiously saccharine.

"Walk me to the door, darling~?"

Yuri rolls his eyes but smiles all the same. "It would only be polite."

Viktor kisses Yuri once more before he leaves, against the closed front door. It's gentle and slow and lingering, but light. It makes him feel like his whole body is simmering.

"Sorry," he breathes, and nips the lobe of Yuri's ear. "I couldn't help myself." 

Yuri absolutely melts into Viktor as they kiss. It's not going to be easy to make what they have work, but moments like this will make it all worth it.

"Don't lie," he says after Viktor nips his ear, "you're not sorry."

"Caught me," Viktor whispers. "Goodnight, Yura."

*

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *
> 
> thank you so much for reading! 
> 
> If you've already kudosed us but liked this chapter, please leave us a keymash or a emoji in a comment below to let us know! 
> 
> You would not believe the serotonin burst that even such a small comment produces for us both. This fic is a big undertaking and we continue to hope that people will love our versions of these boys, but also fear that they won't. So if you did enjoy, please throw a keymash or a gif our way, even if you feel you need to do it anonymously, because it really really will encourage us to get more chapters out, quicker, if we know we're doing something that people like.
> 
> And if you didn't enjoy, um...i'm sorry and please don't tell us so,,, but i do hope you find a different fic that you do enjoy ;)


	6. Sapporo: reunions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They've been still for a while, both breathing smooth and deep, heading toward slumber, when a beautiful realization blooms suddenly in Viktor's mind.
> 
> "This is the second time I've gotten to fall asleep with you in my arms," he whispers. "Lucky me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys, thanks so much for all your support over the last few months while we've been somewhat MIA, it really has meant a lot and kept us going. 
> 
> since it's been a hot minute since we last posted, you might want to re-read the last chapter as a refresher. (or start at the beginning again, if you like!)

*

Viktor was reaching the extent of his patience in several ways. By the time it was time for their flight to Japan and the beginning of the ice show season, he had spent a week and a half exhausting himself, pressing himself right up to his limit, challenging it day by day to grow, grow, grow. Slowly, he was seeing results. Slowly, he was starting to feel better, less like dying, at the end of his ice time. Bit by bit, he was more able to keep up with Yuuri during their shared on-ice training. A little bit at a time, he was getting his body back.

Viktor hadn't let himself go, exactly, in the year off. But 'fit' and 'skating fit' are two vastly different things, and Viktor needed to regain the latter. He'd had two weeks after Worlds to get back to at least an ice show level of presentability. He'd made as much of the time he had as he could. And despite that, he wasn't satisfied with his results.

The reality of competing and coaching Yuuri was still far off, still too far out on the horizon to feel pressing, to feel real. For now, they worked in parallel to each other, and Viktor caught himself still guiding by reflex, even during sessions when he intended to focus on himself, to leave Yuuri to his own devices. It nibbled at the back of his head, a voice that whispered that he couldn't do it anymore. That he was better as a coach than a competitor now that his attention was split, now that his icy kingdom of one had cracked open and let in all the light and life and love he'd been lacking. 

Viktor fought that voice with every workout, every kilo he could add to his leg presses, every slight way that his body fought him less, exulted more, during stamina sessions with Yuuri. His success hadn't been made overnight. His return to form wouldn't be, either. He forced himself to patience, to deliberation, and to focus.

Through this span of time, while everyone else took well-earned rest time after their long seasons of work, Viktor - from determination - and Yuuri - from an inability to take it easy even when he was trying - kept each other motivated. But they both still remained off-kilter, a bit off balance, and they talked less, focused more, to keep their minds off of the missing member of their rink.

Viktor, of course, had a constant chat going with Yuri this whole time. Yuuri messaged him a few times too, and ducked into frame behind Viktor when he video chatted Yuri from the ice, telling Yuri he missed him on the ice with him, and that even Georgi was visibly missing him. ("Really! You can tell, his frown is different.")

But of course Viktor wasn't satisfied. He'd expected the primary difficulty inherent in maintaining a hidden relationship - intimate one-on-one time wouldn't be nearly as easy to acquire, or excuse, as it would be for other couples. But this was different. Viktor could handle not getting to kiss Yuri for days on end. He surely wanted to, but he could cope without it. He could be patient, reminding himself he'd get to cuddle Yuri through a series of hotel rooms, all up and down the length of Japan and then out into Korea before hopping over to Canada and the States. They have months of odd hours, new hidden corners, and indulgently little oversight to spend together. He could manage, he could wait.

But he couldn't wait for this. Viktor wanted Yuri on the ice with him. No, he _needed_ it. He needed Yuri there with him more intensely than he could ever remember needing it, and he wondered, privately, if the change in their relationship was at fault for this, too. They'd spent plenty of time apart, on different ices, before. One or the other injured. In different countries. And even when they did share ice, before Yuuri, before this last season, it hadn't felt...essential. Viktor was there, Yuri was there. That was simply a fact, not a pillar of existence holding reality together.

_You never let it mean more than that, you know._ Viktor hated his internal critic. Especially how right it always was.

So. Ten days, give or take, since they arrived back in Russia after Worlds, and they headed out again. Viktor stayed away from Yuri on the flights, sitting with Yuuri or even Georgi, on the shorter connection, when Mila had gotten snagged by another one of the girls for gossip and Yuuri happily leapt at the chance to sit with Yuri and catch up.

**Viktor** >> _It isn't that I don't want to, you know that_

**Viktor** _ >>I don't trust myself. I'll make it up to you in the hotel. _

*

**Yuri** >> _finally fucking checked in. where are you?_

**Viktor** >> _Luggage in -your- room first, Yura. Then you can come to mine. Oh! And, I got the single I asked for!_

Yuri grumbles at Viktor's message, but follows Mila into the elevator and then down the hall to their room. He doesn't mind sharing with Mila, in fact he's looking forward to it. It has been hard on him, spending so much time alone while he was resting, and he's eager to have someone to talk to again.

They'd shared enough hotel rooms last season to not need to confer with each other about which bed was whose, so he dumps his stuff on the bed by the window and takes a look around the room. It's not quite a suite, but it is fairly large and there's a sitting area as well as a desk and a little kitchen area with a sink, microwave, and mini fridge. There's also a connecting door and that makes him roll his eyes. They better not be rooming next to Georgi, or, worse, JJ.

He picks up his phone to reply to Viktor. 

**Yuri** >> _stuff's in my room. what's your room number, i'm on my way_

A sudden knock on the connecting door makes Yuri jump. A quick glance at Mila gives nothing away. 

"You should probably answer that," she says blandly. 

He narrows his eyes at her, aware that he's being set up. But set up for what?

Yuri reaches for the door knob like it's a snake that might bite him, but when he finally opens the door he can't help the squeak that manages to escape his lips. 

"Vitya!"

Viktor, standing in the doorway that connects his room and Yuri's, bites his lip across a smug smile. He's seen Yuri at various points over the last twenty four hours, obviously. But this is the first time they're standing in front of each other. And it's the first chance he's had, that he's allowed himself, to touch him. He doesn't waste a second.

He leads with his hand, cupping it to Yuri's cheek, and in one movement he steps over the threshold, pulling Yuri into his arms and curling around him, tucking Yuri's face against his shoulder. "Hi, Yura."

Viktor wraps himself around Yuri and Yuri lets out a long, deep breath that he didn't even realize he'd been holding. It's like his entire body sighs. He wraps his arms around Viktor's neck and breathes him in. Nothing else exists in this moment.

Yuri's breath on Viktor's bare neck feels incredible, and Viktor presses a kiss into Yuri's hair, savoring this. This is what he knew he could wait for, knew they both could endure waiting for. And this is worth the wait.

Yuri's always felt a bit like electricity to Viktor. Kind of like if the snap of static electricity were instead a buzz inside of him, sparking in random places, tingling in others. It's like domesticated lightning. And with Yuri in his arms again, that little lightning starts to flow under Viktor's skin again, waking up after the better part of a week away. 

"Mila thought of this," he tells Yuri, between pressing kisses into his hair and to his temple. He rubs up and down Yuri's back soothingly, careful to keep the pressure of his hand heavy and steady. "She arranged it for us."

Yuri turns a bit to glance over his shoulder at Mila, who’s sitting on the end of her bed watching them, grinning quite smugly. "Thanks, Baba. I really appreciate it."  
  
“You better!” she teases.   
  
Yuri turns back to Viktor, pressing his face against Viktor's shoulder. " _God_ I missed you."

Viktor looks up, his gaze just as warm as Yuri's in appreciation for Mila's help. But Yuri commands his focus. "Did I go somewhere?" he teases, pulling back far enough to look in Yuri's eyes, one thumb pushing Yuri's hair back from his face.

"No, but I still missed you." And he can't wait another moment, so he leans up, rocking up onto the balls of his feet, to finally press his lips to Viktor's.

_God, yes._

Viktor pulls him tight, one arm at the small of his back, one cupping his jaw, and bends Yuri backwards into the kiss, curling over him, taking his mouth as he's been aching to do since the last time they kissed, six days prior, just inside the front door of Lilia's house before Viktor left for the night.

Yuri keeps one arm around Viktor's neck to keep himself secure - not that he thinks Viktor will actually drop him - and his other hand comes up to tangle in silver hair. How did they go so long without this?

Yuri's kiss feeds the lightning running through Viktor's skin, makes it brighter and sharper, and in turn, that spark-spitting current seems to bring everything Viktor's touching, everything he's feeling, into greater focus. He groans, softly, and breaks their kiss, pressing his brow to Yuri's, breathing in the heat of the air they share in this small space between them.

"Wow," he whispers. "I really hate how careful I'm going to have to be about this. Giving you a see-through costume seems like a horrible mistake right now."

"Mmm, to be fair, I picked one see-through costume and made the other one. Not your fault, but now I wish I maybe hadn't been trying quite so hard to get your attention."

Arms slung comfortably loose around Yuri's waist, Viktor laughs, hides it against Yuri's mouth, plucking at his lips with his own, tucking little tempting suggestions into the corners. "What mistakes have I made," he chuckles, exaggerating dismay, "that made you think I was ever, at any point in my life, into glam rock?"

"Oh, no, the actual clothes were mainly for me. The fit and all the skin... those are for you."

"A _hem_. Forgetting someone?” Mila interrupts their reunion with a snort. “I’ve seen enough. You two are banished." She pushes at Yuri's back, trying to urge him and Viktor over through the doorway into Viktor's room.

Viktor laughs, stumbling half a step backwards, catching Yuri against his body as Mila pushes him. From there, he walks backward, dragging Yuri with, motivating him with the creep of one hand down Yuri's back, heading for the small of it and the hem of his shirt.

"Miiiiilaaaaaaaa~" Viktor sings, beaming at her, heartmouth and all. "Thank~ youuu~"

Yuri is more than happy to go along with Viktor, especially as Viktor's hand makes its way down to the small of his back. That's not going to lead to anything he particularly wants Mila to see. The door snicks shut behind him and he keeps walking in to Viktor, forcing Viktor to back up until his thighs bump into the bed.

Viktor's ass lands on the bed with a little bounce. "We should close the other door too," he says, mildly, head tipped back so he can look straight up at Yuri. His hands on Yuri's hips, holding him right where he stands between Viktor's spread legs, suggest he's not actually too seriously concerned about the door.

"Hmmm, and apologize to Mila later, maybe. I forgot she was still there."

"Yeah, I don't think we need to worry about it too much right now. I don't think Mila will be getting near it anytime soon."

His grin softens to a gentle smile as he looks down at Viktor, drinking him in. He'd been happy enough with the knowledge that he'd get to spend time with Viktor every day for the next month, but now he gets to spend at least these first few nights with him, too, and he's so grateful to Mila for arranging it.

"No, probably not," Viktor purrs. He rakes his hands up Yuri's sides, snug around the dip of his waist, spreading wider to encompass his ribcage, and finally sliding around back to cover Yuri's shoulder blades with his palms. He feels like he's plugged straight into a thundercloud, and any second now the lightning will race down through him to the ground. He looks up at Yuri's beautifully soft expression, haloed by the slipping fall of his hair on the left side, where it got pulled free of its tie by Viktor's hand when they embraced. Viktor thinks that his Yura must be the most beautiful little thundercloud the world's ever seen.

Viktor leans close, pressing a kiss to Yuri's belly through his shirt. It feels so easy. This feels so, so easy. Maybe it should alarm him, how quickly he sinks into their little world of two. He can't find it in himself to care.

"I was shocked when she told me. Offered, really. It hadn't even occurred to me to try, but she made it happen for us. She said she set it up like this for most of the tour."

Yuri sucks in his stomach as Viktor kisses it and his hand finds its way, inevitably, back into Viktor's hair.

"She's a good friend, and I owe her a lot."

He settles himself in Viktor's lap, his knees either side of Viktor's hips, and leans in to kiss him. "A whole spring of spending the nights together without having to worry about being caught. We're going to get spoiled."

Viktor kisses Yuri, deep and self-indulgent. His hands move up to frame Yuri's face and hold him in place, and the feeling of Yuri's jaw moving gently under his palms as they kiss is almost as luxuriously good as the kiss itself. And he only pulls back when he can feel himself getting short of breath - only once Yuri's heart is pounding and Viktor's kiss has filled his mind completely.

Viktor laps gently at Yuri's lips as they part, tongue dragging reluctantly across the bitten-pink swell of them. "Spoiled, hm? Is that a promise?"

The world has narrowed down to just the two of them in this room, on this bed, kissing. Nothing outside of them exists, and Yuri would be more than happy for it to stay that way forever.

He whimpers softly as Viktor pulls away. "Mmm, I'll do my best."

He drops his forehead to Viktor's shoulder and tips his head sideways, nuzzling into his neck, and wrapping his arms tight around Viktor's back. 

"Oh, Yura." Viktor can't hold him tightly enough. His voice is soft, pressed into a kiss against the slope of Yuri's shoulder. "I missed you."

"Don't let go," Yuri murmurs, his heart in his throat.

His hands slide up under Viktor's shirt, fingers gently stroking over the soft skin, tracing the muscles of Viktor's back, the line of his spine.

Viktor shivers, and it rolls through the muscles under Yuri's fingertips. He holds on all the tighter, closing his eyes and tucking his face against Yuri's collarbone to hide. "I won't."

"I think," he says, a few shaky moments later, all his attention fixed on the paths of Yuri's fingers across his skin. "I think it'd be easier - it will be easier - when we're in different cities, different continents. Then at least there will be reasons I can't be holding you."

"I don't want to think about that right now. We don't need to think about that for a long time." It's probably childish and immature, but he doesn't really care.

"I didn't mean it that way," Viktor pouts, rocking his head side to side. "I was trying to justify this to myself. Feeling like this is the first time I've had you near me in... It feels like it was a lot longer than it was. Why does it feel so different now? It feels like I'll stop breathing when you leave this room. I know I won't, so why..." He squeezes Yuri tight, crushingly tight, pushing the confusion away. 

"I don't know, but I feel the same. Not seeing you for a week was horrible." Viktor is holding him almost painfully tight but he doesn't care.

"Mmm. I'm sorry. I had to use the time I had. God, Yura, I've..." He stops. "Ah, I was about to whine at you about skating, sorry, sorry."

"Don't apologize for skating, I don't begrudge you your ice time. I just wish I could have been there with you. Go ahead and whine at me about skating, I don't mind."

Viktor laughs, soft, and picks his head up to meet Yuri's eyes. "Aah, you're already keeping your promise to spoil me. But, we should lay down first? Get comfortable before I talk your ear off." Viktor groans, and thumps his head back onto Yuri's shoulder. "Because I really do have so much to whine about. Yuraaaa, I got old."

"Yes, lying down is good. Flying wears me out even when I'm not in excruciating pain." He presses a kiss to Viktor's temple then carefully climbs off his lap. He toes his Chucks off and tosses his jacket onto the chair. "You're not old, you just slacked off for a year."

Viktor's on alert immediately. "Excruciating pain?? Still? Yura, you--" Then it clicks. "Oh. Oh, okay."

"No, my knee is fine, at least for now. We'll see how it is after I get back on the ice." To remove the jeans or not to remove the jeans? 

Viktor flops backwards onto the bed where he sits, which puts him crossways to the length. "I diiiid, didn't I," he mopes. "Aah, I'll never recover."

"You're such a drama queen, you'll be fine once you've been back on your conditioning program longer than ten days." Yuri rolls his eyes and smacks Viktor's leg affectionately. "Come on, at least take your shoes off and move so we can lie down properly.”

Viktor pouts and makes a big fuss of getting up, getting his shoes off, getting settled onto the bed the right direction. But the whole time he's fussing, his expression is giving him away: completely fond and warm and eager to get settled on the bed.

"Just because you're right doesn't make it any easier to endure! I'm so out of shape, I'll never get back to normal in time for the season, not even if I flew right back to Russia right now and skipped all the ice shows and just worked all summer long."

This last bit is dramatically sighed as he collapses onto the pillows, overwrought, arms wide for Yuri to fall into.

Yuri climbs onto the bed and into Viktor's arms. He settles with his head on Viktor's chest, over his heart, and drapes his arm across Viktor's stomach. "You managed to get Katsudon back in shape last summer, you'll be fine."

He lets his eyes fall shut and concentrates on the rise and fall of Viktor's chest under his cheek, the heartbeat in his ear.

Yuri says it with such absolute certainty, it's not even faith. Not confidence. Just the calm of speaking truth. Something small and ugly inside Viktor's heart unwinds, just a little bit, at the sound of that.

"W-well, I suppose I really have to be, then, mm? If I didn't give you the fight you've wanted for so long, what would that do to my reputation? It's unthinkable."

"Exactly. I need at least one full season to battle it out with you and it had better be a fair fight."

Viktor combs his hand into Yuri's hair, quickly running into the elastic in it. He begins gently picking it free, careful not to pull even a single strand, if he can help it. "I will put my all into it."

One of Yuri's enduring memories of his mother is of her combing his hair out for him, and as in all other ways she was neither gentle nor kind. When she hit a snag, she would just keep tugging, often ripping the knotted hair right out of his head and telling him to keep quiet when he cried out in protest. Yet no matter how much he begged, she wouldn't let him have it cut short. For years he didn't let anyone else touch his hair, except for when Dedushka would take him to have it cut.

But this season Lilia had maintained that his hair be braided back away from his face, and she insisted on doing it herself. As ever, she put turnout over comfort and paid no mind to how the twists and braids might tug at Yuri's scalp.

Yuri is learning that Viktor will take every chance he can to sink his fingers into Yuri's hair, and for the first time in his life Yuri doesn't have to flinch or cringe with worry. Viktor is supremely gentle, carefully sifting Yuri's hair through his fingers and taking great care not to pull when he encounters a tangle, or works the hair tie loose, and Yuri loves him for it.

Viktor can feel Yuri melting under his touch, and he cherishes that. He still doesn't understand why it is that Yuri has such a desire - a need - for his love, but he supposes he'd better get used to that. Yuri sees in him something that Viktor himself doesn't, and if that's a something that Yuri wants in his life so badly that he'll claw and fight Viktor himself to keep it, then it'll be his for the rest of their days.

Viktor stops petting Yuri's hair briefly as he notices that Yuri's breath has leveled out, going slow and shallow. Is he asleep? Maybe. Or maybe just enjoying the attention. 

Viktor resumes his caresses, combing his fingers slowly and smoothly through Yuri's fine, silky hair. The elastic band was put aside a while ago, so there's nothing in the way. Every once in a while Viktor rubs gently at Yuri's scalp, massaging the points behind his ears, near his nape. Viktor knows from personal experience that the sensations to be found there - and the relief of tensions lingering from the weight of tightly bound ponytails - are profound.

"You're always so gentle," Yuri mumbles. "Not like my mama." All the tension left in his body from traveling melts away under Viktor's touch and he drifts right on the edge of sleep.

Viktor cradles Yuri's head in his hand for a moment, still and quiet, acknowledging what Yuri shared, before he begins petting once more. "Aah, well, you remember my hair! Let's just say I can relate." He presses his thumb in, broad and rolling pressure, right at the base of Yuri's skull, on the good spot. "Mmm, right?"

"I stand by what I said the other day. I'm firing my massage therapist and I'm just going to let you do it instead." Yuri finds Viktor's hand and tangles their fingers together. "Don't let me fall asleep, or I'll never get to sleep tonight."

"Yura..." Viktor smiles, then smirks, and squeezes Yuri’s hand tight. "Oh I don't know. Even if we nap now, we could always make sure to wear ourselves out properly before bedtime."

Yuri tips his head up and kisses the underside of Viktor's jaw. "I suppose we could, but we can't tire ourselves out too much because we have to be on the ice tomorrow." He's very much looking forward to getting back into his skates, even if he won't be allowed to do much just yet.

Viktor sighs, blissful. "Aaah, then does it matter how much sleep we get, won't you need it for tomorrow? Let's just sleep now, Yura, let's just go to bed right now."

"I guess a nap couldn't hurt. We shouldn't sleep through dinner though... at least one of us should put in an appearance." The idea of drifting off together does sound very enticing.

"Oh, I definitely don't want to miss dinner." Viktor lifts his head. "We should probably let Mila know, and properly get ourselves undressed and under the blankets, huh."

"That requires moving," Yuri grumbles. "...What do we need to let Mila know?"

Viktor snickers, and shoves some of Yuri's hair forward, across his face. "To wake us up for dinner!"

Yuri giggles and puffs the hair away. "Or we could just set an alarm." 

"Yes. I like the Mila alarm, she'd be nicer than a loud phone alarm."

Viktor pushes Yuri’s hair forward again and pokes Yuri's nose.   
  
"Stoooop," Yuri fake-whines, swiping at Viktor's hand.

"Make~ me~" Viktor trills, dodging. “Message Mila.”  
  
"You only want that because you've never experienced her waking you up. She's not nice."

"Well, someone I know doesn't wake up from just his phone~"

"Fine." Yuri sits up and grabs his phone off the bedside table, firing off a quick request to Mila for her to wake them up in time for dinner. Within moments he receives a thumbs-up reply. "Done. Sleep now."

Viktor beams. "Thank you," he says, all heartmouth and adoring eyes. Maybe he's putting it on just a tiny bit thicker than normal. But maybe he's also thinking about curling up to sleep with this beautiful boy in his arms and he just can't help himself.

"Mm. You're welcome." Yuri slides out of bed just long enough to strip down to just his underwear and socks before he's back under the covers.

Viktor's nearly as brisk, stripping down to just underwear, and even as he's sliding under the covers he's reaching for Yuri, rolling him into his arms til he's the little spoon tucked snugly in front of Viktor. Viktor tucks his nose against the nape of Yuri's neck, breathing deep, and the world settles onto its axis a little more firmly as he exhales, melting tension from every limb as he does. Once they're settled, Viktor takes up petting Yuri's hair once more, beginning all over again to carefully and gently smooth out all the little ruffles and tufts, until his hair is perfect and smooth and caressed gently back from his cheek, behind his ear, once more.

Yuri is more than a little overwhelmed by how good this feels, how right this feels, being tucked in close against Viktor. They fit together perfectly, as if they were made to. He's never felt safer or more loved or more at home anywhere in his life.

If Yuri is the little thundercloud and sharing touch with him is the lightning, Viktor thinks that what he is feeling right now might be the rain, inevitable and cleansing. He kisses the slope of Yuri's shoulder and wraps his arms around, one arm extended out to pillow Yuri's head, one looped over his waist. Viktor finds Yuri's hand and links their fingers together, drawing both their loosely curled hands up toward Yuri's chest to rest. Lightning crackles softly under Viktor's skin. Head to toe pressed against Yuri like this, skin to skin, is a bit of a drug.

There's a little more adjustment as they settle down for sleep, shifting a knee here or an arm there. But it impresses Viktor how much it feels that they're in concert with each other even in this. They've been still for a while, both breathing smooth and deep, heading toward slumber, when a beautiful realization blooms suddenly in Viktor's mind.

"This is the second time I've gotten to fall asleep with you in my arms," he whispers. "Lucky me."

Yuri squeezes Viktor's hand gently. "The second of many. And I'm pretty sure I'm the lucky one." The warmth that always consumes him when he's touching Viktor reminds him now of falling asleep in a sunny spot on a summer day, and he allows it, drifting off with a contented smile on his lips.

*

They wake the next morning still tangled together, and by the time they actually manage to get out of bed Mila's shouting through the door that they'd better get their asses in gear or they're going to miss breakfast again. But despite that, she waits for them, and they arrive in the hotel dining room together, Mila in the middle.

It’s the first day of practices for the new show, it'll be another day or so before the entire cast is assembled, and Yuri scans the room, looking for one person in particular. He's just about decided Beka isn't here yet when he finally spots him standing just a little bit off to the side, talking with the show's choreographer Jeff.

Yuri grins and weaves his way through the tables, always staying out of Otabek's line of sight, until he's directly behind him. Then he pounces. He jumps onto Beka's back, wrapping his arms and legs around him and resting his chin on Otabek's shoulder. "Hi!"

Otabek had about five seconds' warning before Yuri's weight landed on his back, because Jeff, naturally expressive to start with, kept glancing over Otabek's shoulder at something that was approaching behind him. He was trying to be surreptitious about it, but he was bad at that.

Therefore, Otabek had already shifted his weight to center it on both feet, and braced his shoulders, by the time that Yuri's weight smacked into his back. He rocks forward with it, lifting his hands out of the way to let Yuri's legs swing around his waist, and then stands upright again, tipping his head to one side in a sideways nod of acknowledgement and greeting.

"Yura, hello."

He's happy. It's been too long.

"Beka. I'm glad you're here." Yuri bumps his head against Otabek's. He knows they just saw each other at Worlds, and they've chatted some since then, but a lot has happened since then. A lot happened _then,_ if Yuri's being fully honest with himself. Worlds wasn't what either of them had expected...in more than one way. But they _have_ kept chatting, through the quiet of the early off-season, and Yuri has taken that as proof that everything's going to be okay. It's nice to be around Otabek’s steady personality.

"Hi Jeff." He flashes the choreographer a smile. He hasn't personally worked with him yet, but he'd like to, and the skating world is pretty small... everyone knows everyone. "Can I steal Beka from you?" Jeff laughs and excuses himself.

"Beka, have you eaten yet? Take me to the buffet."

Otabek snorts softly. "You have legs."

"Ugh, fine." Yuri unlocks his legs and lets himself down. It's not a long drop, Otabek is just a few inches taller. "Have you eaten yet, though?"

Otabek turns around to look at Yuri properly. He's smiling wider than Otabek's seen in quite a while. It's a relief to see. He'd worried that Yuri's disappointing performance at Worlds would have driven him from tension into depression. Instead it seems to have galvanized his motivation.

Otabek's eyes close just a touch, creasing at the corners. A smile. "I have not," he says.

"Well come on, then." Yuri grabs Otabek's hand and pull him over to the expansive breakfast buffet where he grabs himself a couple of boiled eggs, some bacon, and toast. "How's your family? How was your time off?"

"They're well," Otabek says. "My sister and her husband are still trying for their baby. They're optimistic." He waits until Yuri's moved on to each next offering before reaching for his own food, so as not to rush him. "I played three shows, and rested."

Yuri steps back and lets Otabek go ahead to finish filling his plate. "Do you have any shows scheduled during any of this?" He's only been to the one gig he'd pulled Beka away from to help him with Welcome to the Madness and he'd like another chance to see him DJ.

Once he's finished serving himself, Otabek turns to Yuri, waiting for him to choose a table, and nods. "Two. In Seoul."

Yuri pours himself some tea and grabs some orange juice, then carefully balances his cup, glass, and plate as he leads them over to a table at the edge of the room, a little bit removed from everyone else. "Then I'm coming to both of those."

Otabek's mouth curls, just a little. "You're skating Seoul too?"

"No," Yuri frowns. "Viktor was invited to skate that, but Yuuri and I weren't. But there's no point in going home for just a few days, so I'm tagging along anyway. But that also means I'll have free time."

Then it's decided. "I'll get you a ticket. Would you want to bring anyone else too?"

Yuri pauses. Obviously he'll bring Mila along and it's not like he'll have to twist her arm to get her there. But... would Viktor go? Would it be his thing? Would he find it too risky if it was? "Uhm. Definitely Mila and maybe someone else, but I have to ask them first. Is that okay?"

Otabek nods, thinking. He'd expected Yuri would want to bring Mila - he usually does. Another, though? "I can definitely get you two. Let me know about the third and I will ask."

"Thanks, Beka." Yuri leans in to press a kiss to Otabek's cheek.

Bemused, Otabek just raises one brow, skeptical, but unbothered. "You're welcome."

Yuri's phone buzzes a few minutes later.

**Viktor** >> _That was truly adorable. Did he propose?_

Viktor is, hands in pockets, standing near the coffee station, fully engrossed in chatting amiably with Stephane and several other coaches.

Yuri rolls his eyes when he reads the message.

**Yuri** >> _no, shut up. he just said he could get me and mila in to his dj gigs in seoul. wanna come???_

Viktor's lips twitch in a little smile when he reads Yuri's answer, fifteen or twenty minutes later, while he's sitting down with some more food and a bit of temporary solitude. Clubbing isn't exactly his scene, but he appreciates that Yuri would want to include him in something that Yuri enjoys so much.

**Viktor** >> _Seoul? I'm not sure I'd even have time._

Mila had joined Yuri and Otabek at their tables while Yuri was answering Viktor and Yuri fills her in on their plans in Seoul.

His phone buzzes a few minutes later.

**Yuri** > _ >you know beka is skating seoul, too. he'll have time to do that AND dj. _

**Viktor** >> _He has an admirable work ethic._

**Viktor** >> _In seriousness, I appreciate the invitation. But I don't think it's much my 'scene.'_

**Yuri** >> 😛 _fine, stay home and be boring then_

**Viktor** >> _I need my beauty rest_

**Yuri** >> _yeah whatever_

A sudden thought occurs to Yuri and he turns to Otabek, interrupting whatever it was he was saying to Mila. "Hey, you're going to do Welcome to the Madness with me, right?"

Otabek blinks. "Unless you choose a replacement. It's your exhibition."

Yuri blinks right back. "Why the fuck would I want someone else to do it? It's as much yours as it is mine. You helped me put it together."

Now Otabek's eyes crease, just a little. He's touched, and reassured, and trying not to make a big deal of it. "Then you didn't need to ask if I would still do it with you, did you?" There's unspoken warmth and implicit loyalty in his words, even if it's not in his tone.

Yuri can't quite help blushing, and the smile he gives Otabek has a certain softness to it. He's glad to have it confirmed that they’re still friends and things haven’t really changed.

Otabek inclines his head - not even enough to call it a nod - and sips his coffee, moving the conversation on to give Yuri a break. "What did you have in mind?"

"I guess just what you did at the Final. With the glove and the finger gun. If that's okay."

"Of course," Otabek says. "I assumed it is a permanent choreo now. Since it was successful." This is a vast understatement, but Otabek likes making those from time to time.

"Only when you're available to do it. It wouldn't be the same with anyone else."

Otabek glances at Mila mildly. She flusters.

"You better not be suggesting what I think you're suggesting. Besides! It would completely change the impact if it was a girl. It would turn it into some kind of, um, femme fatale thing."

Otabek blinks at her. "Is that bad?"

Yuri just stares. Is... what's happening here? 

**Yuri** >> _are you seeing this?!_

"Well it's not what Yuri wants with the program, I think. Right? Yuri?" Mila sounds slightly nervous. Just a bit.

Otabek leans back in his chair, coffee mug blocking his lips.

Viktor looks up from his phone, where the article he was reading has just been interrupted by Yuri's text, and glances around. 

**Viktor** _ >>Seeing what? _

**Yuri** >> _beka and mila. they're going to get married and have a million kids_

"What?" He frowns at Mila. "Oh, yeah, no offense Mila but you're not exactly my type."

**Viktor** >> _Oh, really? I think you should probably let them know_

"None taken! That's my point!" Mila points at Otabek with one accusing finger. "I'm not qualified, see?"

Otabek sets his coffee down. "Or you're intimidated."

Mila squeaks.

Yuri raises an eyebrow as Mila and Otabek go back and forth and then Mila squeaks and Yuri smiles a bit despite himself. He's never seen her so flustered by a guy in all the years he’s known her.

Across the banquet room, Viktor bites the inside of his cheek to keep his smile under control - a spontaneous heartmouth would be hard to excuse as just a reaction to the article he's been reading, currently pretending to still read.

"I think maybe you've met your match, Baba."

"Match?" Mila scoffs. "No, I know when I've been beat. Otabek, well played." Otabek nods, pleased, and Mila stands, scooting her chair neatly in against the table. "Yuri, I'll see you later?"

"Yeah, I'll see you upstairs."

He waits until she's out of hearing range and then turns to Otabek. "I'm impressed."

Otabek shrugs, though he's a little pleased at the praise, and lets that show. "She's not that hard to tease, when you know how."

Yuri has the distinct feeling that there's something he doesn't know, and raises an eyebrow. "Something you want to tell me, Altin?"

Otabek blinks. "You think I like her."

"Yes?" He stares at Otabek, trying to find any sort of hint to what he's thinking, but Beka has a serious poker face.

"Mila is a good friend," Otabek says, perturbed. 

"Oh. Seriously? You don't even like her that way a little bit?" He'd been so sure...

Otabek just meets the question with one slightly angled eyebrow. "No. I said that."

"Fine, don't tell me then." He's suddenly grouchy and he doesn't quite understand why.

Otabek frowns now, frustrated. Shit. This wasn't the point. He wanted to celebrate Yuri's good mood, make it grow with warmth and easy conversation, not squash it.

"I… do think she's beautiful," he concedes, hoping the offering will help somehow.

"Well, obviously." Yuri rolls his eyes a bit. "You could do a whole lot worse, Beka. And you'd be a huge improvement over her usual idiot boyfriends."

Otabek hesitates. "It looked like we were flirting about the glove?"

"Seriously? Beka... yes it looked like you were flirting about the glove."

Otabek flushes, very very lightly, across the bridge of his nose. His expression remains unchanged otherwise. "I just meant to see if I could rile her up about it, because of her relationship with you."

Yuri sees the blush and smiles a bit. "Oh, you definitely succeeded in that." He pauses. "Just think about it, yeah? But she won't be available forever."

Otabek nods. Yuri wouldn't intentionally steer him wrong. He trusts him. And there's an intense generosity in this, in Yuri wishing good fortune in love for Otabek. It's not something Otabek can acknowledge out loud - that conversation was painful enough the single, and only, time that it was had - but he won't forget the significance it lends to conversations like these, either, even long after Yuri has put it from his mind for good.

"I will."

"Good." Yuri will take that.

It's a few minutes later, while Otabek and Yuri sit in comfortable silence, that Yuri's phone dings.

**Viktor** >> _What was all ~that~?_

Otabek looks over at the sound. "Hm?"

Yuri reads the message, then glances over at Beka before looking down at the screen again. "Nothing. Just a text." 

**Yuri** >> _looks like i might have to bang their heads together to knock some sense into them_

**Viktor** >> _aaa. On behalf of the hardheaded, don't be too mean to them. It's hard being as stubborn as us~_

After breakfast they all go up to their rooms and get ready for the first day of practice. Yuri showers and gets dressed in Mila's room, then they all file onto the bus that will take them to the venue. Everyone else talks and laughs during the ride, but Yuri can't concentrate on what's being said. His insides feel all itchy and his knee bounces impatiently - he needs to get back out onto the ice.

He's the first one off the bus and into the locker room, and normally he takes his time getting his skates laced as it's become something of a ritual for him, but today he's in too big of a hurry. This all means that he's the first one out to the ice and he takes a deep breath, letting his lungs and nose fill with the unique smell and feel of rink air, before he briefly reaches down to greet the ice with a touch before he steps through the gate.

He closes his eyes and savors the feeling and sound of being back on the ice as he does a couple of figure eights and basic footwork patterns.

*

"He's been off ice since Worlds, I heard," Viktor overhears, between two skaters moseying along, like him, in the breezy wake of Yuri's urgency. 

"Seriously? Is he gonna be okay? What was it?"

"I don't know," the first voice responds, and Viktor can hear the shrug. "But at his age, I'm sure it's just an overabundance of caution from his team."

"It's good to see that these days," a third voice chimes in, one of Viktor's peers in age. "If I'd been let two weeks rest when I needed it, I'd still have a knee."

*

Yuuri isn't first on the ice - he'd like to have been, but in a crowd of skaters this thick, he hangs back politely and allows others to pass ahead of him. Waiting his turn at the gate, spinning his guards between his fingers idly, Yuuri watches the flash of Yuri's white blond hair, the balance and nuance in his body as he tests out his knee, puts it through its paces, seeing what it can do after two weeks away, and swallows hard.

_A year ago, I wasn't even that confident, and I had never -left-, I'd just...sucked. But look at him. Two weeks but he isn't even the slightest bit afraid of it. Of the ice._

Yuuri nudges his way ahead of the next person in line at the gate and picks off hard for speed. He starts with laps, tucking his earbuds in as he goes, and sinks into his head. Focus is right there waiting for him, clicking into place without any trouble. The ice feels like butter under his blades and, smiling blissfully, he loses himself to it.

Yuri's knee is feeling fine so far, so he builds speed and finds an open spot in the middle of the ice and goes for a triple toe just to see how it'll hold up. The landing is solid without even a hint of pain and he grins to himself. Excellent!

Everyone tends to break into pairs and groups as they warm up and Yuri heads toward Otabek, falling in beside him. He'd like to have gone to Viktor instead, but Yuuri's already there and besides, with this many people around, they have to be careful. But that doesn't mean he isn't aware of Viktor, tuned to his presence at every moment.

*

Viktor isn't as stressed as he thought he would be today. Not about the skating - though he's still not at the level he wants to be with his own skating, he knows his standards are absurdly stringent, and that he's at a perfectly acceptable level for show performance. He'll keep pressing his limits, and as the tour continues he'll improve. 

But he was stressed - not nervous, alright, just somewhat stressed - about seeing a number of familiar faces again for the first time in some time. A large amount of the cast for this leg of the tour are his peers, and most of them have been retired for years. Viktor hasn't had one on one conversations with most of them in well over a year, which means they haven't had a chance to corner him with jokes and questions about his 'wild year' test-driving retirement as a coach. He has been clear that it wasn't retirement, it was a break year, but some of them are too amused by the idea of their own jokes to let it go, and won't take him at his word. It's frustrating, all the more so now that he's back on the ice. It's easy to claim that he's above caring about other people's opinions; it's less easy to keep that in practice, especially after, well, his 'wild year'.

So far, though, the cast members who are here so far are being perfectly fine about it all, and he spends a little while doing single loops and axels with some of them, playing around intermittent with casual conversational chess, until Yuuri, with his absurd stamina, has completed his lengthy warm up routine.

From that point, it's easier to relax. Yuuri's focused on his own skating, cheerful and intense and straightforward. It's a breath of fresh air in comparison to the sly cattiness of the conversation Viktor just escaped. So it's no sacrifice to launch into a focused conversation with Yuuri about his skating, analyzing his approaches and nitpicking his choreo sequence. Like Viktor himself, Yuuri is always thinking, and it's wonderful. 

Every once in a while, taking advantage of the lapses in their conversation, Viktor casts his gaze across the ice, scanning for a particular skater whose progress Viktor is territorially protective and confident about. 

On one sweep, Viktor's gaze crosses Yuri's, and catches. It's hard not to hold it, but he manages.

Yuri's a bit at loose ends and maybe possibly feeling a little left out. He's well aware that he's the youngest person in the group by several years and with this being his first year as a senior, and his first season of ice shows, he doesn't really know most of the people here. Those he does know are off catching up with friends they haven't seen in a while. Viktor's eyes find his briefly, but he's with Katsudon and they're clearly talking about something important. He spots Stephane on his own a little way away from another group, so he gathers his nerves and heads over that way. He doesn't want to interrupt, but he has a question he needs to ask sooner rather than later.

Stephane sees him coming and greets him with a warm smile, which helps settle Yuri's nerves a bit. "Hello, Yuri! I was pleased to learn you'd be joining us here!"

Yuri tries hard not to blush but isn't sure he succeeds. "Thanks. It's... a bit overwhelming being included with so many great skaters."

Stephane smiles, bemused. "We're all human, Yuri," he reminds him. "Don't think about what everybody else has done before; try to just think about them as teammates right now. We're all on the same cast."

"I guess."

"I know," Stephane insists. "You just need to relax. Here - come skate with me for a bit, mm? Let's do patterns. That always gets my mind off of things." Stephane leads Yuri into a series of compulsory patterns, some familiar and some not-so-familiar. The chatter in the rest of the rink continues, but for a handful of moments, there's comfortable quiet between the two of them, one leading and one following.

After a few minutes Yuri just blurts out, "I want you to choreograph my free skate for next season." He belatedly realizes that his nerves got the better of him and scrambles to rectify the situation. "That was meant to be a question. Sorry."

Stephane laughs, not unkindly. "It would be my pleasure. Have you thought about music yet?"

They skate and talk about music choices until Jeff finally remembers he's a choreographer now and has responsibilities and calls them all to the center of the ice.

Jeff's choreography seems good, Viktor decides, forty-five minutes into the first session. But as a less experienced choreographer, his ability to control the crowd of skaters is less than masterful. Chatter continues at low volume in the groups not currently in his focus.

Right now, men's and ladies' singles are idling while Jeff works with the pairs and the dancers, and Viktor takes advantage of the mingling atmosphere to breeze around the perimeter of the group until he finds Yuri. He comes up behind him and loops one arm around his shoulders, as presumptive as people, in general, expect Viktor Nikiforov to be with his affection. He doesn't interrupt the conversation verbally, but gestures vaguely with one hand for it to continue despite his arrival.

Yuri fights to not react when Viktor skates up and hooks an arm around his shoulders. It's less a conversation that Viktor's skated into and more a group of the younger skaters poking good-natured fun at the pairs and dancers mangling Jeff's choreo (knowing full well that the skate will be on the other foot when it's their turn).

Viktor is content to just watch and listen, laughing mildly at one or two of the really most well done jokes. Mostly he's just silently present. He moves a little closer after a while, so that his arm presses against Yuri's shoulder blades and spine with just enough weight to be impossible to ignore.

Yuri can't help leaning into Viktor just a little bit, letting his head settle in its spot in the cradle of Viktor's shoulder and arm. He makes sure to keep a scowl on his face to discourage anyone from commenting on it. Fortunately it doesn't seem like anyone is really paying them much attention anyway.

Viktor can't let himself focus too much on the points of contact between his body and Yuri's. This isn't the place. But in the back of his mind he files it all away, storing the memory of the moment for later, when he's got the luxury of privacy, and can think about, and savor, Yuri's tiny show of affection. 

Hours later, Yuuri takes advantage of a moment of privacy between just them two. 

"Yurio looked kind of like a happier cranky today. I'm really glad his knee is better. I missed him."

Viktor smiles. "I am too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we hope you enjoyed this one! if so, please leave us a kudos (if you haven't already), or a comment letting us know. 
> 
> for any IRL skating fans, see if you can figure out which skater was the inspiration for a character in this chapter!


	7. Sapporo: skating & shower sex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri cries out softly and his fingers spasm, nails digging into Viktor's shoulder. He can't help that laugh that follows. He's lost track of how many times he's jerked off in his own shower with this exact scenario in his head, and jesus christ, it's like comparing a toddler's scribbles to a fucking Rembrandt now that he's got the real thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi all! we're back again!
> 
> as we mentioned last time, your comments and feedback have really kept us going through this really difficult time. we read and re-re-read every one, star them in our inboxes, message each other as soon as we get one to squee about it. honestly, you guys fuel us. 
> 
> we're both in love with this ship and this story, but to know that you all are enjoying it too is so, so inspiring and motivating for us. thank you.
> 
> as thanks, have some porn! xD

*

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*

After rehearsal is done, the cast goes out to eat as a group. There’s a lot of good-natured bickering as they choose the restaurant, then again as they all find their seats around the pushed-together tables. Somehow, Yuri ends up sandwiched between Mila and Beka, which is fine, if a bit awkward when they talk around him. All in all, though, it's a pleasant dinner since the skaters he finds the most annoying aren't here yet. 

Of course, Yuri remains aware of what Viktor's doing all evening. He spends most of the dinner chattering lightly with other skaters, occasionally hopping up from his seat to join in on group photos. But he excuses himself for the evening almost the moment he's finished eating his meal, saying he's tired. Some other skaters tease him about getting old, and he laughs cooperatively with their jokes, but the smile doesn't reach his eyes.

The food is good, but Yuri’s only been picking at it. It’s been hard having to keep his distance from Viktor all day, pretending that they’re only rinkmates, and it’s put him in a bad mood. When Viktor leaves, Katusdon looks as though he’s about to follow and Yuri glares across the table at him, willing him to stay put. Thankfully Katsudon is drawn back into the conversation with Stephane and one of the dancers and seems to forget about it.

Yuri manages another forty-five-ish minutes before getting tired of conversations taking place around and through him rather than with him so he gets an Uber back to the hotel. He drops his skate bag in Mila's room and grabs something to sleep in and his shower kit before heading next door. He briefly wonders if he should knock rather than just letting himself in but decides he's being stupid and opens the door.

Viktor's sitting on the bed, back against the headboard, reading. His attention snaps up from his book when the connecting door clicks open, and his expression melts from a furrow of concentration to a broad, delighted smile. He closes his book and sets it aside, opening his arms.

"Yuuuura~. You took so long."

Yuri sets his things down in the chair before climbing onto the bed and curling up in Viktor's arms. "Yeah, sorry. I didn't want it to seem obvious. And you're lucky it's me rather than Katsudon."

Viktor lets Yuri get comfortable, curling one arm low around his back and gently pulling him close. Before Yuri's fully settled in, Viktor interrupts - curling one finger under his chin and nudging him up for a kiss, sweet and soft and lingering. "Aa, that was smart of you. Thank you." Another little kiss, and then he lets go, guiding Yuri's head down to rest on his chest, fingers in his hair. "I'm glad it's you. Was he looking for me?"

Yuri smiles into Viktor's kisses then settles contentedly against his chest, letting his eyes fall shut. "Mm. After you left it was pretty clear that he wanted to get up and follow." There's a growing spark of irritation in his chest. "Just because he doesn't know how to, like, be a normal person without you around, he seems to think that he's the only one who knows you or gets to be close to you."

Viktor's hand pauses, briefly, in its arc through Yuri's hair. He continues stroking, and hums noncommittally. "That's a bit of a jump, isn't it?"

"Just because you're his coach doesn't mean you belong to him," he grumbles. "At least Phichit will be here tomorrow."

"I really don't think that's fair," Viktor says, frowning. "He likes being around me very much, but I like being around him very much too. He's never tried to keep me from spending time with anyone else."

"I know, and that's not what I meant. Just... never mind." He doesn't know how to put what he's feeling into words, and it doesn't matter anyway.

Viktor's hand tightens on Yuri's waist, just above his hip. "Yuuura."

"Just forget I said anything. I'm just being grouchy."

Viktor exhales. Stroking Yuri's hair back from his face, Viktor caresses up the line of his jaw to the crest of his cheekbone. "You are grouchy," he teases, but the gently soothing stroke of his fingers says he doesn't mind. "A little grouchy kitten. You weren't in a good mood after getting back on the ice today?"

"I was. It was nice to be back in my skates, even if I didn't really do much." He wraps his arms around Viktor's waist. "What about you? How was your day?"

"Tiring!" Viktor groans, theatrical. "It was a struggle at several points to remember that these people are my friends. Oh, but the skating was fine~"

"Hopefully now that they've taken their chance to give you a hard time they'll drop it." He heard more than a few supposedly good-natured comments about Viktor's year away from competition.

Viktor rolls his eyes, tipping his head back against the headboard. "Vanishingly unlikely, I'm afraid. The trouble is, some of them don't believe their words could do any damage, even if they were being intentionally mean, because I'm me, and they think I'm..." He sighs heavily, and Yuri's head rises and falls with it. "Me, I suppose."

Yuri's not quite sure how to respond to that. He's known Viktor so well for so long that he forgets that people buy into the Viktor Nikiforov persona, and it makes him mad that they don't think their words can hurt. "I'm sorry people are pricks."

Viktor kisses the top of Yuri's head with a little smile, and squeezes him around the middle gently. "Thank you, Yura."

Viktor's content to continue simply sitting quietly with Yuri like this. They both need to shower, and there's evening stretches and muscle massage to be done as well. They probably don't have many more demands on their time for the night than that, and while Viktor's certainly got hopes about that, mostly he's hoping that whatever they choose to do with their time, that they can do it together.

Meanwhile, Yuri's eyes are still shut, although he's not ready to sleep just yet. He's happy for now to just sit here quietly with Viktor, basking in his presence and warmth. He reaches out and takes Viktor's hand, lacing their fingers together.

A few minutes go by quietly. Viktor's following his thoughts wherever they take him, each leading to the next. He finds they keep circling back, however - continuing to loop around and around, all returning to the same point, the same thought that demands to be shared. 

"It's a little scary," he says then, giving up on keeping it to himself.

"Hmm?" Yuri's been lost in his own head, drifting from thought to thought. "What's scary?"

"I counted, you know? Days. It's been sixteen days since I kissed you the first time. Maybe fifteen, actually, it might have been after midnight that night." Viktor's thumb strokes patterns across Yuri's temple, through his hair. His other hand, laced with Yuri's, tightens.

Yuri's brow wrinkles as he processes this. It seems like both much, much longer ago than that and simultaneously much more recent. "Why is that scary?" Yuri shifts and presses himself just a bit closer to Viktor.

Viktor's breath catches just a little, snagged on the edge of his words. His head's tipped back against the wall. Somehow it seems easier to say this while he's looking at the offensively bland hotel art on the far wall of the room than it might be if he said it while looking down at the blond silk of Yuri's hair sifting through his fingers. "Because I already know I'm in love with you."

Yuri freezes, his breath caught in his throat and his heart skipping a beat or two in his chest. He's been dreaming of hearing Viktor say those words for years, and he knows his own feelings. But... "Viktor, you don't - you can't mean that." He wants to believe it, more than he wants anything else - even six world champion titles or back-to-back Olympic golds.

Yuri began quaking against Viktor as soon as he finished his sentence. And a soft, wavering uncertainty in his voice, in his words, compels Viktor to nudge him upright, so he's sitting up, so Viktor can see his face clearly. There's tears there, silent tears welling up in the corners of Yuri's eyes, and for two long, surreal seconds, Viktor watches those tears gather as he holds Yuri's gaze. Yuri watches Viktor, unblinking, waiting through those two seconds, and ultimately it's Viktor who breaks the locked gaze, blinking and looking down and away. "God, I'm sorry. It's too soon to say that kind of thing, isn't it?"

Yuri shakes his head. "I spent three years thinking I had done something wrong, done something to make you hate me. Seventeen days ago you wouldn't talk to me unless you absolutely had to. You called me Yuri and wouldn't touch me. Then you found me on the balcony and everything changed and I realized that I can't ... I can't go back to how things were before. It's not that it's too soon, it's just fast. " He knows there's a difference between "soon" and "fast" in his head, and he hopes that Viktor understands because he doesn't know how to explain it. "I want your love, Vitya. I need it. But not if it will be taken away again, because..."  _ because it would kill me. _

Viktor can't breathe. He heard the end of that sentence clear as a bell. He opens his mouth, reflexively forming the first shape of Yuri's name, the vowel sounds that are square and Russian and not at all the same as the same long, soft Japanese vowels. 

And he stops.

When he opens it again, it's not with platitudes or the meaninglessly saccharine, pacifying tone, wheedlingly forming a sweet pet name, that comes too easily, too readily. It's with honesty so heavy it makes his tongue numb to carry it.

"Seventeen days ago I saw you fall, and I realized I'd been lying to myself for three years." Viktor swallows hard, forcing the lump in his throat down, forcing it out of his way. This is too important to falter.

"You missed the podium. You missed and I... had never considered that possibility. Not just at Worlds. When I realized you - you weren't medaling this time, I also realized I'd just... assumed you would. That you would just be on all the senior podiums, forever, until you retire. I took it for granted that you'd be up there."

Viktor pauses. Gathers himself.

"I took it for granted that you'd always be there. Be... here." He pauses. "For me."

Viktor's still holding Yuri's hand, fingers laced together tightly, and that grip remains firm as he shakes his head, rakes his bangs roughly out of his eyes. As he tries, tries so hard, to collect himself. And still he can't stop his voice from breaking when he continues.

"I was lying to myself the whole time. And I- I realized it, then. That I haven't ever actually let go of my love for you. I never actually intended to let anyone else have you. I was just waiting until I was ready to let myself claim you." He sneers, gaze gone distant. "God. I'm good at lying to myself."

Viktor thinks back on his decisions, his feelings, memory reaching back years into the past, and all he can see is his own hubris. "I told myself that I was high minded, that I was thinking of your greater good. That I was letting you move on and find someone better for you."

He laughs. It's bitter. "Letting you move on... while hovering over you the whole time? Tch. I was full of shit. I realized that. And a flask of vodka helped me stop lying to myself about it."

Yuri hates it when Viktor gets that tone to his voice. He hates it and it scares him a little, getting a glimpse of how much Viktor sometimes hates himself. "Vitya, stop." His hand intercepts Viktor's as he reaches up to roughly shove his fringe away from his face again. "Stop." He gently opens it up from the claw it was formed into and bring it up to his own cheek instead, leaning into it slightly. There. Now Viktor can't hurt himself with it. He uses his now-free hand to reach up and carefully pull Viktor's fringe away from his face, tucking it gently behind his ear. 

Viktor's hand, cupping Yuri's cheek, twitches. He wants to pull away, but Yuri's there, his eyes wide and intense and challenging Viktor not to pull away. Not to withdraw. His little motions of unease disturb the light tuck of his hair, and it swings free, disobedient. The corner of Yuri's mouth quirks up. "It's getting long. Better decide if you're going to trim it or let it get long enough that it'll stay put."

Viktor laughs weakly. "Should I grow it into a bob like yours?" 

Yuri sighs heavily and pauses for a long moment as he gathers his thoughts. "I told you I always knew girls were not my thing. I've messed around with a few boys, but I only ever came away from that feeling a bit..." 

He pauses and scrambles to think of the appropriate word, but comes up empty. "Icky-sad-gross. Definitely not in love. And I thought... I thought I was in love with Beka. I even kissed him. He was very sweet about it and let me down as gently as he could. It sucked because being rejected never feels great, but I realized that if I'd really been in love with him it would have hurt a whole hell of a lot more. I think I was looking for a distraction, so in the end it's probably a good thing he's straight because I would have just ended up hurting him when I figured it out."

"I didn't know," Viktor says, soft, and a frown creases his brow briefly. "About Otabek, I mean. I wouldn't have guessed, either. You two are still so close." 

Yuri shrugs. "What I'm trying to  _ say _ , Vitya, is that there was never going to be anyone else for me, regardless of your intentions or hovering." Although Yuri is curious how Viktor thinks he managed to hover while almost never getting near him. "I won't let you hate yourself for it."

Yuri sits up a bit so he's on a level with Viktor and catches Viktor's eyes, forcing himself to maintain eye contact. "Say it again."

Yuri's gaze, posture, and words are all a challenge, looking forward, but Viktor shakes his head, still stuck in the past. "You can't stop me from it," he says, brittle. "I'm a fantastic skater but a wreck of a man, Yura, I'm so much less than you deserve. I have every right to hate myself for that, and you can't stop me~"

"Vitya,  _ stop _ ."

Yuri's voice is thick with tears. "God, it fucking hurts to hear you talking about yourself like that. I'd never let anyone else talk about you that way, and you're right, I can't stop you from doing it, but it still breaks my heart to hear it."

He sits back again and looks up at Viktor through his hair. He's not sure if Viktor deliberately side-stepped it, or if he just got distracted, so this time it's a soft request, rather than a demand. "Say it again?"

Yuri's crying, but Viktor can't. He wishes he could, but he can't. He's never been able to cry except from fear for the sake of another, or anger, or both. Never sadness, never despair-- well. Not anymore. Never mind from fear for himself. So all he can do is cradle Yuri's face in his palm. Brush the tears from Yuri's lashes. Bite his own lip to hold back the response that comes so easily to mind: more self-deprecation, more pity that Yuri had the unfortunate fate to love someone who can surely only hold him back. Someone selfish enough to know that, and to keep letting him love him anyway.

Yuri's voice is gentler this time, less confident, as he repeats himself, and Viktor regrets not answering his demand the first time, regrets inspiring this touch of uncertainty. He squares his jaw, lifts his chin, meets Yuri's gaze. He knows Yuri heard him the first time, heard him and wondered -  _ did he really mean it? Could he have really meant it? _ Viktor smiles, so soft, and his thumb tenderly brushes the corner of Yuri's lips. Of course he did. "I'm in love with you, Yura. I love you."

Yuri nods, relieved. "I know you know already, but I'm in love with you, too." Yuri takes Viktor's face gently in his hands and draws him in for a sweet, soft kiss. "I love you," he murmurs against Viktor's lips, "and you can't stop me. You're stuck with me now."

"Oh, I can't stop you from anything, Yura," Viktor laughs, dry and breathless and exhausted. He sighs into Yuri's mouth, and his lips drag across Yuri's as he turns the sigh into a kiss, and then another, before he finally pulls back to look Yuri in the eye. "God, you terrify me. Look at you. It doesn't scare you even a little?"

Yuri shrugs a bit. "Maybe I'm just too dumb to know I should be scared, but the only thing I'm afraid of is losing you again." He resumes his place against Viktor's chest, pulling Viktor's arms tight around himself. "How do I terrify you?"

"You're unbelievable," Viktor murmurs, soft, tipping his head forward till he can rest his brow against Yuri's. His heart's beating fast, adrenaline and something newer, fresher, mixing together in his chest. Yuri's pulse doesn't seem steady either, though Viktor can't tell for sure. He pulls Yuri closer, though it's still not close enough. It'll do for the moment.

"You seem strong as a storm. I don't think I was half as brave, or half as certain of who I was, back then." The phrase 'at your age' is uncomfortable, and Viktor avoids it. "It's like you're not afraid of me at all."

"God, no, I'm not brave." Yuri closes his eyes and takes a few deep, steadying breaths, trying to get his nerves back under control and steady his heartbeat. But then he pulls back and blinks up at Viktor, thoroughly confused. "Why would I be afraid of you?"

Viktor shrugs, combing Yuri's hair back from his face, keeping his touch heavy, slow, and soothing. "Lots of people are. And I haven't even hurt them like I've hurt you."

"Lots of people haven't known you their whole lives. They don't know you like I do." Yuri's going to let the comment about being hurt slide for now, there's already been too much angst for one day.

Viktor sniffles. Maybe he is going to end up crying. "Yura...oh, Yura. Come here, please, I need you to-- come closer. Please?" Viktor tugs gently on Yuri's elbow, trying to unfold him from his side, trying to coax him to move. Yuri in his lap, filling his field of vision, his senses, is what Viktor wants and needs right now.

Yuri gladly slides back into the spot between Viktor's legs, pulling his knees up and making himself as small as possible so that Viktor can wrap himself completely around him.

"I really went and messed up a nice mood, hmm," Viktor sighs, not even upset - mostly rueful - as he wraps himself around his bundle of Yuri until he's got him fully encompassed, firmly held. "It shouldn't have even surprised me."

"I'm glad Mila fixed the rooms for us," he continues, and kisses Yuri softly. They're close enough neither of them has to stretch to reach at all. "I won't let you go for anything tonight."

"We have plenty more nights to have nice moods, especially now that all of that is out of the way." Yuri laces his fingers with Viktor’s and squeezes gently. "I'm glad she did, too. You'll have to let me go for a little bit, though, because we both need showers and to do our stretches and all that. But fortunately those are all things we can do together."

Viktor laughs, shaky. "I'm not sure I can keep my hands to myself if we shower together!"

"So? Who said you had to?"

Viktor groans and kisses Yuri, hard.

Yuri smiles a bit against Viktor's lips. He's still feeling a little bit off-kilter, and probably Viktor is, too, but taking a shower together will hopefully more or less be a reset button. He kisses Viktor back but only for a moment before he pulls away again. "Come on, we both smell, and we'll feel better once we're all squeaky clean."

"Mmm." Viktor nips Yuri's lip. "That sounds nice." He unfolds himself from around Yuri, letting his touch linger as he pulls away, as he starts scooting toward the edge of the bed. "And I can have you all to myself afterward~?"

"Of course you can. I'm not planning on going anywhere." Yuri leans in for another kiss when he joins Viktor at the edge of the bed. "You'll have me as long as you want me."

With his fingers raked through Yuri's hair at the nape as he pulls him in for another kiss, Viktor can feel the sweat lingering on his scalp from his workout, or also from the stress of crying. He's tempted to try to make Yuri's breath go short, to kiss him dizzy, but instead lets Yuri go with a soft puff of breath and the pop of their lips as they part.

"I'll hold you to that," he promises, and crosses the room to the bathroom, stripping his shirt off over his head as he goes.

This hotel brand has been one of Viktor's favorites for a while largely because of the bathrooms. They're indulgently large by Japanese hotel standards, with heated toilet seats and marble floors, but it's the glass-walled rainfall shower that really has Viktor's whole heart. He turns on the shower and dials the floor heater to medium, then crosses to the vanity and starts brushing out his hair, checking for snarls.

Yuri grabs his shower kit off the chair, but leaves all the clothes except for the clean underwear figuring he's probably not going to need them, then follows Viktor into the bathroom. "Do you know how much better my life would be if Lilia's shower was like this?"

He strips down, then steps up behind Viktor who's still fussing with his hair and wraps his arms around Viktor's waist, resting his head between his shoulder blades.

"Lilia's?" Viktor laughs. "Forget her place, I want one. I've been thinking about putting one in at my condo."

Yuri's weight against his back, his arms around Viktor's waist, are the most comfortable kind of distraction. With a contented sigh, Viktor turns in Yuri's arms and loops one of his own across Yuri's shoulders. He strokes the comb lightly through one small section of Yuri's hair as the air around them fills with steam. "Is it better if I comb it out before or after it's washed?" 

There isn't a question of whether he  _ will _ . The way that Yuri melted in his hands, and the incredible vulnerability of what he shared the last time Viktor brushed his hair, have made up Viktor's mind. He's determined to pamper Yuri by caring for his hair so extensively and gently that he will someday have forgotten what it feels like to have it manhandled.

Yuri tucks his head under Viktor's chin and sighs softly as Viktor runs the comb gently through his hair. "I usually comb it after and then put it up."

Viktor's hands are heavy and gentle, migrating from Yuri's hair and shoulders to his back, his hip. "Will you let me do that for you?"

"Sure, if you want to." Yuri shrugs as he trails soft kisses along Viktor's jaw and down his neck.

Viktor sighs, and it shakes out of him as Yuri's kisses pluck at his focus, testing it. His grip tightens on Yuri's hip, drawing Yuri firmly against him. "I very much do want to," he says, voice soft. "Let's get clean first."

Viktor crosses the bathroom from the sink to the shower, steering Yuri ahead of him with gentle pressure from his hands on Yuri's shoulder and hip like an improvised waltz. At the shower door, Viktor steps through first, drawing Yuri in after him hand in hand. The rain shower's flow drops over them like a curtain, soaking them through, plastering Yuri's hair to his cheeks and neck.

Viktor pushes Yuri's sodden hair back from his face, and Yuri smiles softly, tipping his head into it. His grip on Viktor's arm is probably tighter than it needs to be, but he's reluctant to let go for fear of Viktor dissipating like so much steam.

Viktor marvels in the slick wet shine of Yuri's throat and peaked nipples; in the bright starry droplets caught in his eyelashes. Yuri's body is lithe, tight heat against Viktor's own, pressed close with the encouragement of Viktor's palm in the small of his back. Yuri's willingness, his want, is pinned between his own belly and Viktor's hip.

For a moment, Viktor's nearly overcome with frustrated desire. He wants to drop to his knees before Yuri, consume him. And then, he remembers, like a revelation, that he can. He's allowed. Possibility blooms like little lightning bolts under his skin, radiating from Yuri's grip on his forearm, sparking and crackling and moving with him as he kneels, sinking slowly down, careful of his own knees on the stone shower floor.

Viktor looks up at Yuri, squinting against the rainfall of the shower, hands squeezing and kneading the muscle of Yuri's thighs. He licks his lips, kisses the peak of Yuri's right hip, and rolls his cheek against that plane of muscle and bone. His eyes are bright and pale. Water streaks over his shoulders and down his back in thick, winding rivulets, flowing out of his hair, down his spine.

Despite the hot water that washes over him, a shiver runs down his spine when Viktor falls to his knees and looks at him like a worshipper about to receive communion. "Fuck, Vitya..." He can't thread his fingers into Viktor's hair like he'd like to, so he settles for pushing it back from his face.

Viktor swallows, equal parts moved and eager. Yuri looks down at him with eyes gone wide and dark, and Viktor's smile curls his lips, satisfaction writ broad across his features as Yuri shivers in his hands. He kisses Yuri's thigh and grips his calf, working his knuckles into the muscle to chase tension out of it. He hums. "How's that feel?"

Viktor's lips on his thigh sends heat straight through Yuri. "Terrible. Awful. Make it stop," he says in a fake flat voice.

Viktor laughs and nips at the muscle on the outside flank of Yuri's leg, just above his knee. He kneads more firmly. "As you wish," he teases, and doesn't stop.

"Mmm. Keep that up and you're going to make me weak in the knees and then we'll both be on the floor."

"Oh I can't have that," Viktor says, looking up. He pushes water out of his eyes with the back of his hand, checking Yuri's expression, and keeps watching it as he strokes his palms up the back of Yuri's thighs, till each of his palms cup the curves of Yuri's ass and he's risen up to kneel fully upright. Viktor kisses Yuri's belly, above his navel, and glances up again, double checking.

"I'll hold you up," he promises. His voice is barely louder than the patter of the shower on their skin and on the glass and stone around them. "Yura, may I?"

Yuri's eyes flutter shut and his breath catches in his chest when Viktor kisses his stomach. "Yes, Vitya, please." He brushes the backs of fingers across Viktor's cheek, his eyes locked with Viktor's.

Viktor groans, helpless, caught in Yuri's gaze. He shifts downward, lips opening, mouthing at Yuri's belly as he goes. One hand moves from Yuri's ass to his balls, cupping upward, holding his cock steady in readiness. It's hard to keep holding Yuri's gaze, but the increased mental pressure Viktor feels because of it, the heat that races in his veins as he closes his lips around the head of Yuri's cock, watching Yuri watch him, makes it completely worthwhile. Viktor sighs, trembling softly, and pulls Yuri deep into his mouth, tongue curling hungry and impatient under the slight weight of him. His eyes flutter shut.

Yuri moans softly as the wet heat of Viktor's mouth envelops him. One hand settles lightly on Viktor's head, and the other curves over his shoulder. He's not holding Viktor in place, or leaning on him - he just needs to be touching him.

Viktor hums softly, delighted, pushing his head into Yuri's touch. That hum, more vibration than sound, was reflexive, as close to a purr of satisfaction as the human throat can make, and only after he's doing it does Viktor remember that it's going to affect Yuri. Oh well. Viktor doesn't need to make this last very long. His knees aren't going to be too happy if he stays down here for very long, and yet he promised to support Yuri's weight through the inevitable consequence of blowing him standing up in the shower. To do that, Viktor's got to not exhaust himself before he exhausts Yuri.

Besides, his whole mind is full of a loop of fantasies, Yuri coming on his tongue, crumpling forward to drape his weight over Viktor's shoulders, collapsing onto him, trusting Viktor completely, unraveling into his hands, whimpering or grunting. Maybe, if Viktor's lucky, someday, Yuri might even yowl his pleasure full-throatedly, embarrassed of nothing, fully losing himself in the moment.

For now, though, Viktor keeps his goals reasonable: curling pleasured collapse, and his Yura's bitter spend on Viktor's tongue. Viktor needs to make this real.

Viktor hums around Yuri's cock and the vibrations shoot straight through him. He cries out softly and his fingers spasm, nails digging into Viktor's shoulder. He can't help that laugh that follows. He's lost track of how many times he's jerked off in his own shower with this exact scenario in his head, and jesus christ it's like comparing a toddler's scribbles to a fucking Rembrandt now that he's got the real thing. "God, Vitya, your fucking mouth is amazing."

Yuri's laugh is beautiful. His cock is beautiful. The bite of his fingernails on Viktor's skin is beautiful, sharp and abrasive and amazing. Viktor groans and strangles his own cock in his fist, stroking himself roughly as he bears down on Yuri's length until his nose is pressed flat against Yuri's pelvis and the tip of his tongue flicks out past his bottom lip, brushing the soft skin of Yuri's balls. Viktor can only hold himself that far down for a few moments, but he challenges his own limit, letting the clutch of his throat spasm around Yuri's head before he pulls off with a soft cough.

"Yura," he rasps, and dives back on like a starving man, working Yuri over like a lollipop with hungry lips and tongue together. With his free hand Viktor presses Yuri's hand harder into his hair, encouraging a firm grip. His right hand is tight around his own length, tugging it with slow, heavy strokes.

Viktor's name comes out as a strangled exclamation as Yuri's overwhelmed by too many new sensations to process each individually. He whines softly when Viktor pulls away momentarily, but then he's back and Yuri's fingers clench in Viktor's wet hair. His legs are quickly turning to jelly and he knows he's not going to last much longer. He glances down, sees Viktor with his own cock in his hand, and now he can't look away. He's seen Viktor's cock plenty of times, had it in his mouth, but the sight of Viktor jerking himself off while his lips are wrapped around Yuri's own cock is the hottest fucking thing he's ever seen, and it pushes him that much closer to climax.

Yuri's beginning to buckle forward now, legs quaking, and his hand in Viktor's hair supports weight. Viktor squares his shoulders to support Yuri and glances up, tipping his head back to try to catch and meet Yuri's gaze. The movement straightens his throat out. It's too easy to give in again, to drink down Yuri's whole length till he gags with it, and Viktor whimpers delightedly as he dives into a steady rhythm of punishingly deep strokes. Tip to root and back again, expression beatifically contented, Viktor pulls his lips closed in a tight ring around his lover's cock and jerks his own shaft through the tight grip of his own hand in matching rhythm.

It's taking all of Yuri's willpower to not fuck into Viktor's mouth, but he just about manages. He's shaking now and leaning on Viktor, letting him support his weight. His head is down and water runs through his hair and into his eyes but he can't let go of Viktor even long enough to wipe it away. Viktor tips his head up and their eyes meet and the weight of that gaze knocks what little breath Yuri had left right out of his chest.

Viktor's doubling down, and each bob of his head drives Yuri steadily closer until finally it's all too much. He cries out, collapsing onto Viktor as he comes harder than he ever has before.

Viktor draws away as he feels Yuri's cock buck in his throat, swallowing to make the drag easier, and tighter, as he pulls back. He manages in time, and instead of wasting it all down his throat, Viktor happily suckles Yuri's cockhead as he spills onto Viktor's tongue, thick and bitter. The last of it hits Viktor's cheek and the corner of his mouth as Yuri pops free of his lips. It's heaven.

Viktor lets go of his own cock, priorities shifting, as Yuri begins to collapse above him. He catches Yuri over his shoulder, supporting him with both hands and the core strength of his torso, and folds them both down, haltingly, till they're safely sprawled together on the floor of the shower stall. Viktor's breathing hard, Yuri's breathing hard, and Viktor just concentrates on getting Yuri arranged in his arms, sitting in his lap with his back to Viktor's chest, both of them tipped against the warm glass wall of the stall, faces upturned into the falling spray.

Yuri comes back to himself tucked safely in Viktor's arms, his head tipped back resting against Viktor's shoulder. "Hi," he says softly, taking Viktor's hand in his and squeezing it gently. "That was... wow." He's warm and happy and sated and his brain is still a bit fuzzy. "Thank you."

He shifts his weight a bit and as he does so he realizes that Viktor is still fairly hard. "You didn't... oh my god. I'm so sorry." He blushes and ducks his head, feeling guilty. "Next time it's your turn."

"God, Yura," Viktor laughs, pressing a kiss to Yuri's cheek as his head lolls, heavy and warm, on Viktor's shoulder. "No. Thank  _ you _ ." He hugs Yuri close, nuzzling into the crook of his neck, and contents himself with basking in the scent of Yuri's sweat and sex, clinging to both of their skin beneath the wet of the shower. Yuri's wiggle, and stammered apology, have Viktor rubbing his palm up and down Yuri's flank, soothing him, with a smile. "Psh. I enjoyed that," he says, and kisses Yuri's cheek again. "And you taste so good. I don't have to come to feel satisfied that you're all mine."

He pauses, and shifts his weight under Yuri once more, considering. He's all playful trouble as he continues. "But if you really feel that bad about it, I could take care of this right now. If it would make you feel better. If you wouldn't be bored~"

"God, Vitya, I keep telling you you can't just say things like that." He drops his head again and tries to hide behind his hair, but it's wet and won't cooperate, sticking to his face instead. "It would make me feel better, yeah, and I can promise I wouldn't be bored. You were so fucking beautiful getting yourself off while your lips were wrapped around me."

Viktor doesn't need to be told twice. He shifts Yuri on his lap, moving his ass to sit on Viktor's left thigh, and lets his right leg splay out to the side, baring his sex. He's got room to grip himself again now, and Yuri's at a good angle to see now, too. Knowing that Yuri's watching every twitch of his fingers as he wraps them around himself makes Viktor's cock swell back to fullness in just a few dizzying moments.

"Yura," Viktor breathes, tipping his head left, til it's resting in the cradle between Yuri's neck and shoulder. His right hand, fingers curled tightly around his shaft, is holding still, dragging the moment out, savoring it. 

"What is it I can't say, Yura? That I'll jerk myself off for you?" His hand starts moving slowly, twisting at the wrist to put torque on each stroke. He turns his head aside, nosing past the water-clumped barricade of Yuri's hair to find his earlobe, which he tugs between his lips. "Or that you're all mine?"

Yuri bites his lip as he watches Viktor curl his fingers around himself and slowly begin stroking. So. Fucking. Hot. Did he say that out loud? Possibly. "I'm just not used to-" he interrupts himself with a soft gasp as Viktor's lips close over his earlobe. "Not used to affection like that." He could go into more detail, but that would mean dragging up his past and now is  _ not _ the time.

Viktor chuckles softly, fond and gentle and indulgent, and twists his grip on his cock hard enough to make himself flinch. The shiver it sends through his body trembles through Yuri's, too.

"Then I've got some work to do," he sighs, and flicks at the shell of Yuri's ear with tongue and lips and teeth, first licking and then sucking. His hand is steady on his cock, squeezing the head of it at the peak of every methodical stroke. His voice is low and loose, all the tension of his usual speaking cadence already frayed out of it. "Don't I."

Yuri shivers hard as Viktor fusses with his ear. God, how does he always know exactly what to do to drive Yuri crazy? "Mm, but you've got all the time in the world to do it." He can't take his eyes off Viktor's hand. "God, Vitya… I want... what can I..."

Viktor's heart feels like it's unfurling slowly. He leans back against the shower wall, tipping his head back to bare his throat and tuck the small of his back in. The pose pulls his belly taut, tips Yuri's body more heavily against his own, and pulls the tendons of his inner thighs tight. They stand boldly out from the slopes of his inner thighs, flexing distractingly as his hips rock softly in tune with the movement of his hand. In his arms, Yuri's struggling to finish a sentence, and even with his own eyes closed Viktor knows where Yuri's looking, can feel the weight of his gaze like a physical pressure. His mouth curls in a soft, lazy smile.

"What do you want to see, Yura?" he murmurs. His breath is only ever so slightly, faintly, shallow. He could keep up this pace for ages before he needs to come. "Just watch me."

God Viktor's fucking beautiful like this. If Yuri didn't know better he'd think he was posing, and he dimly wishes he could take a picture. Not that he'd ever let anyone see it. Nobody but him ever gets to see Viktor like this again. "Touch. I want to touch," Yuri manages to get out.

Viktor lets go of his cock briefly to push his fringe out of his face. Slicked down with water, his hair's a darker shade, gray instead of silver. It sticks to his cheekbones and gets caught in the corner of his eyes. Viktor licks water from his lips into his mouth, wetting his parched throat, and resumes the steady stroking rhythm on his cock.

"Just watch," Viktor repeats, and this time he groans softly with it, lips curling at the corners.

Yuri tips sideways to lean against Viktor, his head on Viktor's collarbone. He can feel the rise and fall of Viktor's chest as he breathes, but the noise from the shower drowns out the sound of Viktor's heartbeat.

Viktor had told him to just watch, but he can't help reaching out to run his fingers up the inside of Viktor's thigh and then up to his hip.

Viktor shudders, shivering up toward Yuri's touch, as if he can tremble his way closer. His grip on his cock tightens, stuttering, before he smooths it out and regains his rhythm. His strokes are a little faster, and he rolls his lower lip between his teeth, sighing tightly. He rolls his head to the side, away from Yuri, baring to him the long column of his throat, pulled tight in offering.

"Hhhah. Oh." Viktor swallows, knowing it makes his throat bob.

Yuri's lips are immediately on Viktor's neck. He trails a line of kisses all the way up to behind Viktor's ear, then slowly licks the path back down. Nips are scattered across every bit of skin he can reach before he finds the perfect spot just under the hinge of Viktor's jaw. He nips and nibbles the sensitive skin there before giving it a proper bite, not hard enough to leave teeth marks but enough to make Viktor jump. He grins and sucks the skin in between his teeth, pulling the blood to the surface, determined to leave his mark.

Viktor moans faintly, shuddering under Yuri, against him, and his hand moves faster on his cock. With his eyes closed, Viktor's brow furrows, screwing downward in concentration, and he bites his lip again, harder this time, as if he can anchor down the soaring feeling of hunger that's trying to pull his voice free of his self control. Bit by bit, his breath comes shorter, and his hips rock up, thrusting softly into his stroking hand. He gulps, jaw tensed, and presses the column of his neck more firmly against Yuri's lips.

Once he's satisfied with his work under Viktor's jaw, Yuri nibbles and licks his way slowly back down Viktor's neck, occasionally pulling away long enough to glance down at Viktor's hand working his cock. "My Vitya," he murmurs against Viktor's neck. "Mine." He nuzzles at the tender skin at the junction of Viktor's neck and shoulder, dropping soft, barely-there kisses before biting down hard.

Viktor sucks in a ragged breath, head swimming, listening raptly to Yuri's soft, possessive words. There's defiance and territoriality there, wrapped around a core of want, raw vulnerable want dressed up as demands. Viktor nods faintly, feeling the bruise flex painfully, savoring the way that it makes him conscious of his movements. He's working his way around to saying something, reassuring Yuri maybe, agreeing, --and then Yuri's teeth are sinking into the base of his neck, and Viktor spasms forward, buckling around his own grip on his cock. He strokes himself faster and most roughly now, and his quiet groans are raw and hungry, with his eyes screwed shut and mouth hanging loosely open.

"Yura, Yura, I want you. Oh, god."

Yuri licks the bite mark, then kisses it softly before pulling back to watch Viktor. He's not posing now, too overcome with want and visceral need; and yes, he was beautiful earlier but this sight hits Yuri like a blow to the chest.  _ This _ is what he does to Viktor. It's a very heady thought. "You can have me, Vitya, I'm yours."

Viktor shudders once, hard, stumbling right up to the edge of control. Teetering on that edge, he closes the ring of his fingers around the base of his cock and squeezes, hard, choking it off until his orgasm feels a safe distance away, but still easily within his grasp if he merely reaches for it. His whole body trembles, frustrated, craving, confused. It's fantastic.

"You," Viktor manages, lifting his head from Yuri's chest - when had it ended up there? - to kiss Yuri's jaw and cheek, smiling dreamily. "You're- yours, too. I want you to, too." Working his left hand out from behind Yuri's back, he flattens one broad palm against Yuri's chest and belly, and stops there, looking to Yuri for permission.

Yuri reaches out and cups Viktor's cheek in his hand, pulling him in for a soft kiss that seems at odds with the intense atmosphere. "I love you Vitya. You can have whatever you want."

"Oh good," Viktor mumbles, and curls the fingers of his left hand around Yuri's cock. His own throbs in his right hand, heavy and impatient. It's not going to take him long, so he kisses Yuri again, deep and filthy, stroking fast and slick so he doesn't leave Yuri behind.

Yuri's sitting so conveniently close and pliant on his lap, a banquet within easy reach. It makes stroking him easy, kissing him easy. With Yuri's honey thick voice dragging promises like that across Viktor's lips, Viktor's caveman hindbrain is convinced that even fucking him would be as easy as shifting his position on Viktor's lap, tugging him onto Viktor's cock in one smooth, tight pull. And though on some level he knows it's unrealistic, in this hot, soaked moment, the fantasy is intoxicatingly convincing. Viktor's feeling lusciously spoiled, so when his edge rolls close once more, he arches back, closing his eyes, and leans into the fantasy and the pleasure.

Bliss punches him abruptly in the solar plexus, leaving him winded, and rumbles through the rest of his body like thunder after the lightning strike. Viktor lets his head hang back, throat stretched out, and breathes his way through the aftershocks. He keeps pumping his cock through fingers sticky with the cum he caught in his palm to keep it contained, gasping softly as his oversensitized cock feebly bucks again, wringing a little more out of him. Viktor's hand on Yuri's cock has stilled and faltered, falling lax as his orgasm scrubbed his mind temporarily blank of everything save the fantasy that pulled him over the edge.

Viktor's hand stills on Yuri's cock but Yuri doesn't care, he's too preoccupied watching Viktor riding out his orgasm. He's beautiful, because of course he is and Yuri still can't just watch, so he leans in to kiss all along Viktor's collarbone as his fingers stroke his side and hip. He's not sure he's ever going to get used to this.. being the one who gets to see this, being the one who inspires it.

Viktor fades back into awareness accompanied by the touch of Yuri's lips in the hollow at the base of his throat. He groans softly, lifting his head off of the wall, and blearily blinks his eyes open. Then immediately squints them shut again, as he is very abruptly reminded, by the water falling into his eyes, that they're still in the shower.

Viktor lets his head thump back to the wall again with a giddy, Cheshire-wide grin spreading across his face.

"Nnngh~. Are you still with me, Yura?" He twists his wrist, brushing Yuri's cock with a light caress. "Gorgeous, wonderful Yura~~?"

"Mmm, I'm here." Yuri smiles and leans up to press a kiss to Viktor's cheek. "You are so fucking beautiful, Vitya." He pushes Viktor's hair back, away from his face, and drops another kiss near the corner of his eye.

The water is still hot because hotels are fucking magic like that, but Yuri is ready to be dry and curled up in bed with Viktor again. "Whenever you're ready, we should probably actually get clean and get out of here before I wrinkle permanently."

Viktor nods, with his head still feeling comfortably fuzzy and vague and his body still tingling with the electricity of Yuri's presence. "Mmmmh. That would be a tragedy," he says, tipping his face up to catch Yuri's next kiss on his lips. "Give me a minute. I'll stand up in just a moment, mmm? As soon as I locate my legs. I think I lost them."

"No rush, just whenever you can." He kisses Viktor again before settling in against his chest, his fingers stroking gently along his side.

"Yes yes," Viktor laughs, lips light and messy and giddy against Yuri's temple and in his hair. There's more laughter stuffed into his chest, til it almost overflows with it, and Viktor draws a deep, full breath, clearing out his lungs, smoothing away the last of the orgasmic tingles. Despite Yuri's weight on his thigh, he thinks he can feel both feet again, and all ten toes. "You'd better not rush me, darling, you're the one whose fault it is that I'm currently so delightfully legless."

Yuri smiles slightly giddily and leans in to kiss Viktor again deeply. "You called me darling," he murmurs against Viktor's lips. He knows it's not actually really that big of a deal in the grand scheme of things, but right now there's a lovely warmth spreading through his chest.

Oh, that tongue. Viktor groans, heart fluttering appreciatively, and even though there's no way the rest of him is ready for round two yet, he still drags his teeth over Yuri's lower lip before their mouths part. "I did," he purrs, smug, and helps Yuri off his lap so they can both stand. "Because you are."

Viktor holds on to Yuri's hand, fingers interlaced, and doesn't let go once they're standing, even though that makes it a little more awkward to push Yuri's wet hair out of his eyes and tip his face up into the warm fall of water. Yuri's lashes, even starred together with water and stuck to his cheeks with his eyes closed, are a marvel. Viktor kisses the tip of his nose. "Cute."

"'M not cute," Yuri grumbles half-heartedly, knowing full well that it's not helping his case at all.

His eyes meet Viktor's and there's so much warmth and love shining through that it takes his breath away. He knows that Viktor guards his privacy and emotions very carefully, and he can't remember anyone ever getting close before Katsudon did whatever it was he did to break through that wall. Being loved by Viktor comes with certain responsibilities to not hurt or betray him-- and Yuri is determined to take that seriously.

"Oh yes you are," Viktor carols gleefully, before he spins Yuri around to face away from him, back to front, and hugs him close, curling his body around and over Yuri's smaller frame. "Nowww, can I wash your hair?"

"Sure, have at it. Although I'd have thought you would have had enough of washing long hair to last a lifetime." Yuri leans back against Viktor and closes his eyes, smiling softly at Viktor's obvious happiness.

"Oh, my own, certainly."

Viktor finishes washing his hands in the spray, scrubbing his palms with a washcloth to be sure they're perfectly clean, and snags one of the little courtesy shampoo bottles from the nook on the wall. He squints critically at the label on the back, reading the ingredients. After a moment, deciding grudgingly that it's good enough for Yuri's hair, he squishes a generous amount into his palm, and then onto the top of Yuri's head.

"Tip your head back," he murmurs, fingers gently pressing up on the point of Yuri's chin to guide him, before he digs both hands into the thickest part of Yuri's hair and begins gently scrubbing, starting at the roots. "So the suds don't get in your eyes."

Despite Viktor's previous gentleness with Yuri's hair, Yuri can't quite help bracing himself for the inevitable pain and discomfort of having someone else washing his hair. But Viktor is supremely careful and there's not even a hint of a tug and Yuri exhales slowly, letting himself relax completely.

Viktor's watching for that, of course. He expected as much, and takes no offense at all as Yuri's shoulders wind tighter, tensing and trying not to show the tension. Instead, Viktor takes pride, a pride that curls low and heavy and possessive through his blood, in the way that tension leaves Yuri as Viktor's hands gently, carefully, move in his hair.

First shampoo, then a clear rinse and last a creme to condition and protect. Viktor works the product into Yuri's bright, delicate hair with deliberate care, rubbing a soothing massage across his scalp with fingertips that are always careful to dance around his hair, not through it, pushing but never pulling. He's gratified as Yuri slumps back against him, melting into his touch, and the possessive dragon in his blood growls quietly, satisfied.

"You have magic fingers," Yuri hums, boneless under Viktor's gentle touch. He's happy to let Viktor fuss over him as much as he wants, and he's not sure he'll ever really get used to it.

"No magic," Viktor hums, kissing Yuri's temple as he guides his chin up, tilting his head back under the shower spray. He shields Yuri's face with one hand spread over his forehead, sealing the suds away from his eyes. "Just experience. You don't really forget how, it seems, even when it's been a while."

"If I say they're magic then they're magic. Don't argue." The moment Viktor is done with Yuri's hair Yuri is going to kiss him until he's breathless.

"Mmm, okaaay, if you say so." Viktor plays up his suspicion, eyes bright when Yuri's skin and hair are finally fully clear of suds and he can safely open his eyes and see Viktor's mischievous own, hovering over him. "They're my fingers," he complains. "Wouldn't I know better whether they're magical?"

Yuri turns in Viktor's arms and leans up to kiss him instead, carefully pushing his own fingers into Viktor's hair. "Maybe it's like how you can't tickle yourself... you can't feel your own magic."

Viktor's breath catches in his throat, and Yuri's kiss pulls it out of his lungs entirely. Scalp tingling, he happily receives that kiss and the next and the next, holding Yuri close. Viktor remains bent low, back bowed softly so that he stays within Yuri's easy reach, letting him completely guide their kisses.

"I love you so much," Yuri murmurs against Viktor's lips in between sweet, gentle kisses. He could do this all night, but Viktor's back would pay the price, and he really is a tiny bit worried that he really will permanently be a prune. "I want to kiss you all night until we fall asleep, but in bed. Where it's dry."

Viktor chuckles - barely more than a shaky exhale, broken up staccato-short between Yuri's endless soft kisses - and forces himself to stand up straight, raking his own messy hair out of his eyes, putting just a bit of space between their bodies. "Ooh, yes," he agrees, looking them each over in turn. "But maybe we should do the rest of the washing for ourselves. I can't promise I won't get distracted if you put your hands in my hair like that again."

"I think that's probably wise," Yuri grins as hands Viktor the shampoo. "You know, if you get a shower like this at home I'm just gonna have to move in with you."

"Oh, no." Comically aghast. "The water bill would bankrupt me." Then, thoughtfully, "I wonder if I could convince the shower company to subsidize my utility bill if I did an ad campaign for them."

"Oh I see, you're more concerned about your water bill than you are about my happiness. Fine, then, I'll just have to keep taking boring, normal showers. All by myself." Yuri struggles to keep the pout on his face as he makes quick work of scrubbing himself.

Viktor snorts. "So you're not even a little bit worried about the part where I suggested letting people put my bare ass on billboards."

"I don't remember you saying that. You know you can do an ad campaign without showing your ass."

"But this ass." Viktor wiggles. "And then we'd get a free water bill, and I could install a shower like this, and you could use it whenever you wanted, as much as you wanted."

He pauses. "And all it would cost is letting everyone in Russia see my ass."

"Mmm, but what if I don't want everyone in Russia to see your ass? What if I want to be the only person who gets to see it?" He reaches out to give said ass a squeeze.

Viktor shivers, from his scalp all the way down his spine, and flexes the muscle in Yuri's palm.

"I might indulge you."

"It's going to cost me a fantastic shower, but it's worth it." Yuri kisses Viktor again, gives his ass another squeeze, then steps back to turn the water off. The heated floor and abundant steam ensure that he's still nice and warm as he reaches out of the shower to grab two nice, plush, oversized towels.

"The sacrifices you make for my modesty." Viktor takes one towel, waits for Yuri to wrap the other around himself, and then uses his own to carefully press the excess water out of Yuri's hair, unconcerned that he himself is dripping and naked. "I have to warn you, it may be an uphill battle you're picking here. I've been told I'm immodest by nature."

"Oh, I'm well aware of that. I've shared a locker room with you for years, and I was at the onsen with you. It's not about your modesty, though, I just don't like sharing." Yuri smiles softly as Viktor dries his hair. "You have a thing for my hair, don't you?"

Viktor finishes pressing out the last section of Yuri's hair and withdraws the towel.

"I might." He shoots Yuri a considering glance while he wraps the towel around his own hips and folds it over so it stays. There's a little smirk playing at the edges of his lips, and easy confidence in his bearing. "Would that be a problem?"

"No," Yuri says softly after a moment of consideration. "Because you're gentle. It's nice."

"Oh, good," Viktor says, matter of fact, snagging the hair dryer off its artful position on the artful vanity shelves, and heads back into the bedroom with it, hips swishing smugly. 

When his hair was long, of course, he'd never blow dry it by himself, so it usually air-dried except on competition weekends, when he'd have help getting it clean and dry again in the relatively short hours between his practices and his short program, and between his short and the practices the next day before the long. Short hair is much less stress and easier to care for, particularly for fine hair like his and like Yuri's. He plugs the dryer in and flips it on, ruffling its stream of heat through his bangs until they're dry. By that point the rest of it's nearly dry, and he only glazes the short panels and back of his hair with brief attention, just enough to heat-polish it, before clicking the dryer off. The silence of the hotel room feels particularly notable in absence of both the dryer's whine and the shower's heavy patter.

"Yura?" Viktor folds his towel and locates his pajamas, carelessly bunched up on the bed between the blankets and his pillow. "Do you want me to wait for you for stretches, or can I start?" Viktor suspects his limbering routine will take longer than Yuri's. Just a hunch.

"Go ahead and start if you want," Yuri calls from the bathroom, around his toothbrush. He's generally less fussy about his hair, and he's just going to let it finish air drying, then he'll have Viktor put it up before he starts his own stretches.

Once he's done brushing his teeth he slips into his underwear and hangs his towel back up before heading back into the bedroom and snagging his pajama bottoms and t-shirt off the chair, then sits on the bed, happy to watch Viktor doing his stretches.

Viktor glances over his shoulder at Yuri during the next stretch pose that allows it. His hair is air drying quickly - hotel air is good for that - but Viktor's itching to put a bit of serum in, just a touch, to protect it and avoid flyaways. Yuri's hair might change texture once he finishes (once he hits) his growth spurt; Viktor's did, which was one of many factors involved in its eventual shearing. Until or if that happens, it's still baby-fine and light as silk thread. Not quite as strong, but not as fragile as it looks, either. Rather like the boy himself.

Viktor smiles and folds himself back down into the proper arch of his stretch. "There's plenty of room for us to both stretch at the same time," he says mildly. Not that he minds if Yuri wants to just keep enjoying the view.

Yuri means to ask Viktor to put his hair up for him, but now that it's come to it, he's suddenly feeling a bit shy about it. It's one thing for Viktor to play with his hair on his own, but somehow it seems more significant if Yuri asks him to do it. He bites his lip and gathers up his courage. "I don't want to interrupt, and I can do it myself if it's a problem, but would you mind putting my hair up first?"

Viktor pops out of his pyramid pose stretch with a huge heartmouth smile.

"Mind? Yura, it's my pleasure." He sits on the bed, legs folded beneath him to get a little extra height, and rakes his fingers lightly through Yuri's hair, front to back, letting it spill loosely between his fingers. The sensation and sight of it are both profoundly pleasing to him, and his voice reflects his contentment.

"How would you like it?"

"It doesn't really matter as long as it's comfortable to sleep in and doesn't get in my face while I'm stretching." He purrs as Viktor combs his fingers through his hair. "However I decide to wear my hair next season, I'm going to have you do it for me. Or I guess you'll have to teach me how to do it myself when we're not at the same competitions."

Viktor kisses the nape of Yuri's neck, eyes closed, one arm around his shoulders to hold him, just for a moment or two. "I would enjoy that very much, Yura," he whispers.

Viktor's not sure what pattern of braid he uses to lift Yuri's hair off his cheeks, winding it into and through itself piece by neat, carefully sectioned piece. He leaves the back bottom half loose and finishes off the top half's plaits with an elastic folded gently in half and looped around twice. He makes a mental note to buy Yuri nicer elastics, and when he's done he kisses the crown of Yuri's head, hands stroking his shoulders lightly before they fall away.

"There you are. Will that do?"

Yuri goes absolutely boneless as Viktor spoils him. Despite the apparent intricacy of the braids, Viktor never once tugs or snags, and there's no pull on Yuri's scalp when it's done.

He leans back against Viktor, suddenly feeling absolutely no desire whatsoever to get on with his stretches. "Thank you, Vitya, it's perfect."

Viktor tucks his face against Yuri's cheek, breathing him in. He allows himself a little moment, just one, and his shoulders tremble just twice, with his inhale, and his exhale. It's almost too good, too intense, too much. But only almost.

Then he shoos Yuri off of himself, and off the bed, with obnoxious fluttering hands and chipper voice. "Aaa. I'll do better tomorrow. Now!" Viktor claps his hands lightly, briskly shaking himself out of his moment of fragile emotion. "Stretches, stretches, so we can skate like angels tomorrow~."

Yuri grumbles as he's evicted from Viktor's lap, but he knows Viktor is right. He hasn't been on the ice in ten days and spent six hours in his skates today, with the promise of twelve hours tomorrow. If he wants to be able to skate at all tomorrow he needs to do his stretches tonight. So he settles on the floor and begins the process of centering himself and doing his breathing exercise.

Viktor smiles, pleased and a little proprietary, and settles back onto the floor to continue his evening routine, too.

Yuri finishes his normal stretching routine, but there's one more he wants and, honestly, needs to do, but he's going to need Viktor's help. Technically he can do it by himself and usually does, because there aren't many people he trusts enough to help him with it. Doing it with a partner is as much an exercise for his mind as it is for his body and while he definitely trusts Viktor enough to do it, he hopes Viktor will be willing. "Hey Vitya... can you help me with the last one?"

Viktor rolls his head to the side, looking up at Yuri from his ending position flat on his back. Viktor's evening routine is yoga-heavy these days, gentle on his joints and relieving for his long muscle groups. He's really pleased with it, and the changes he's made to it recently. It feels good. "Mmmm? Of course, Yura, which one is it?"

"Just... I'll let you know what I need you to do." Yuri shifts himself into middle splits, taking a moment to find his center and make sure his hips are square. Then he raises his arms above his head and folds forward at the waist until his chest touches the ground. "Okay, I need you to... uhm... put weight on my back."

Viktor watches Yuri move into position curiously, and moves within arms' reach once Yuri tells him what to do. From in front of Yuri, he reaches over his head and places both hands on his upper back, across the wings of his shoulder blades, pressing down lightly. "Like this?"

"Kind of. Just... more. On as much of my back as you can." Mila usually sits on him when he can get her to agree to do it, but Viktor weighs considerably more than Mila does. "Beka sits behind me and puts his forearms on my back, then leans in."

"Hm. Okay~!" Viktor stands, circles Yuri, and kneels behind him. Laying both forearms across Yuri's back, just below his shoulder blades, Viktor tips his body weight forward, leaving it to Yuri to hold them both up.

Yuri lets Viktor's weight push him down and he exhales slowly, relaxing under the pressure. He takes a few deep breaths this way, then, "more, please."

Viktor's brow furrows. "It's already most of my weight," he says. "Unless I just lay on top of you."

But he does it, slowly draping himself down onto Yuri, pound by pound. His head is at level with Yuri's, just behind, and the slow press of air out of Yuri's lungs as Viktor compresses him is loud in his ears, a worrisomely peaceful sound. "Are you alright?"

There it is, that little tiny spark of almost-panic, feeling like he can't breathe even though he knows he can. He nods, then forces himself to relax, exhaling again slowly as he focuses on his breathing and nothing else. After a few more repetitions he's fully relaxed and breathing steadily and deeply, his mind free of any of the nagging thoughts that have been loitering. "You can let me up."

Viktor can hear the change in Yuri's voice, feel it in his body. It's a small, quiet shift, distinct in its subtlety, and it slides through him. Viktor can feel and sense the stillness it leaves in its wake, and he sits back to watch Yuri straighten up, paying attention to how he moves. 

"Did that help?" he asks, at length, when the curiosity is stronger than the desire not to pry.

Yuri straightens up slowly and deliberately, finally bringing his arms down before he shifts to sit cross-legged again. He sits quietly like that for a few long moments and jumps slightly when Viktor speaks. "It did. Thanks for doing that. It's... sometimes I just need to..." He's never tried to explain it before and he finds that he doesn't really know how. "It helps my head," is all he can come up with.

Viktor leans close, ducks his head, and kisses Yuri's cheek, cutting off any further awkward attempts to explain. No need to let Yuri wind himself up again. "I understand," he says, with a soft smile. "I could tell. I felt you going calm."

"Really? Hm." Neither Beka nor Mila have ever told him they could feel anything. But at this point it wouldn't surprise him to find out that they can't and Viktor's the only one who can.

He turns his head and tips his face up to kiss Viktor properly. "Ready for bed or is there anything else you need to do?"

"Really," Viktor hums, stroking his palm down Yuri's back with a heavy touch, soothing. "I'm not sure how I'd describe how I knew, though."

Viktor's hand lingers at the small of Yuri's back, rubbing slowly. At that question, Viktor lifts his hand away, curling his fingers in, so the tips of his fingers and fingernails leave with a light caress.

"I'll brush my teeth," Viktor says. "Much as I'm tempted to be lewd at you, I think I'll save that for the morning." He bends to kiss Yuri, sweet and lingering and soft. His expression, when he pulls back, is just short of worshipful. "For now, I only want this."

Yuri gives Viktor a sweet smile full of warmth and calmness and love. "Go brush your teeth, then."

Once Viktor is back in the bathroom Yuri carefully and slowly gets to his feet, then sets about turning all the lights off, leaving just one of the wall sconces on so Viktor can see his way, then he crawls into bed, snuggling down into the covers, and waits.

Viktor turns off the bathroom light once he's done, but lingers by the door. Rather than crossing the room quickly he first lets his eyes adjust to the low light, so he can appreciate the picture in front of him. Yuri's just barely visible over the thick mound of covers scrunched up over his shoulders, and there's a calm, smooth cleanliness in the lines of the crisp sheets and his spread hair, the curves of the pillows and the lines of his cheek, nose and brow. He looks thoroughly contented. 

Viktor knows the feeling.

Viktor slips into bed carefully, only lifting the covers as much as he needs to get in, not enough to let all the snuggled warm air out. He's just wearing his pajama bottoms now, having removed his shirt for sleep, and he reaches for and finds Yuri's waist under the covers, fitting his fingers across its dip. "Come here," he asks, quiet. There's space between them that doesn't have to remain.

Yuri quickly strips his shirt off and moves happily into Viktor's arms, tucking his head beneath Viktor's chin and wrapping one arm around him, his hand resting on Viktor's shoulder blade. He's never in his life felt so content or safe, and he suddenly realizes that this is where he belongs... even more than on the ice. He could live without the ice as long as he still had Viktor, but he's already learned that the ice won't save him.

Viktor kisses the top of Yuri's head and winds his legs over and between Yuri's, anchoring him down. Not, Viktor knows, that Yuri would want to get up right now. And not that Viktor would actually stop him if he did. But it feels comforting, it feels soothing, to wend himself into and through Yuri as far as he's able. One arm is extended across the mattress, under Yuri's head. With his other he strokes Yuri's back with lightly dancing fingers, up and down, wandering into his hair at his nape every now and then.

Viktor's very tall, as singles skaters go, and Yuri's still before the bulk of his growth spurt. But still, despite the fully logical explanations for it, Viktor still finds himself enchanted by the way that Yuri's little frame fits in his arms so well. It makes him feel capable of protecting Yuri, which isn't a confidence that comes easy to him, and therefore one that he's grateful for at the times he's able to grasp it.

If humans could actually purr, Yuri would be. Instead he tightens his arm around Viktor and presses a soft kiss to his shoulder. "You make me feel safe," he says quietly. "You always have." Even when he was little he was aware that Viktor was someone special, someone important, and when Viktor took him under his wing nobody picked on him (at least not when Viktor was there). And then as he got older, Viktor was the person he could go to for help or advice without fear of judgment.

It's like Yuri read his mind. He can't have, can't possibly have, but the timing is too good, and it knocks Viktor for a loop for a moment.

"Oh," he says intelligently, and squeezes Yuri close. 

He knows he shouldn't ask, that there's no point; after a moment, he does anyway. "Even when I... everything?"

Yuri thinks he knows what Viktor's trying to ask, but wants to be sure before he gives an answer. "Everything is kind of a lot. Can you narrow it down for me?"

Viktor laughs, sadly. It's kind of choked, but it's a choking feeling he's accustomed to, so it doesn't really get in the way. "Left? Forgot. Iced over. Pushed you away? Wouldn't explain. Acted like--"

"Shit. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have opened my mouth. But yes, even then. But enough. We're not going to talk about that any more tonight." He tips his face up to kiss Viktor softly, trying to snuggle even closer.

Viktor kisses him back, so fond he can't even be exasperated. "Make me."

"Make you not talk about it? I'll do my best." His hand slips from Viktor's shoulder up his neck to tangle gently in his hair as Yuri kisses him again. It's a long, deep kiss, slow kiss, meant to distract and reassure.

At some point in the kiss, Viktor rolls Yuri onto his back, pinning his hands flat to the mattress, palm to palm beneath Viktor's. Yet Viktor's still the breathless one when he pulls back, hovering close, studying Yuri's eyes, his expression, with a look of dazed wonder on his face.

Yuri's breath hitches when Viktor pins him and he realizes with a rush that he likes this. He looks up at Viktor with wide eyes filled with trust and love and happiness. He squeezes Viktor's hands in his.

Viktor wets his lips, gathering his thoughts as Yuri's pupils blow out, dark and wide. They hold still as they both realize the live wire they've just touched, simultaneously watching that same realization arrive in each other's eyes. Viktor squeezes back, near vibrating in place, but after a long moment he retreats, laying back down next to Yuri and dragging him into his arms, back to front. Viktor nestles Yuri tight against the curves of his own body (all the curves) like snug spoons.

"...raincheck," he rasps, and nips the slope of Yuri's shoulder in frustration. "Tomorrow."

Yuri sighs with both relief and frustration when Viktor pulls away. He tries to make himself unwind and relax back against Viktor, taking a few deep, steadying breaths. "Tomorrow," he echoes.

Viktor breathes deeply also, matching his breaths to Yuri, letting Yuri lead. Slowly his pulse smooths out, slowly his body quells. His pressing hunger for Yuri melts back down into the warm background atmospheric awareness of want that he carries with him constantly now.

He laughs, softly, when a particular thought occurs. It's a bit of dark humor, but he's genuinely amused, able to see the humor and simply leave it at that, without spiraling. "I'll definitely remember this promise."

"I would hope so." Yuri is trying very hard to not push them across that line from dark humor into simple darkness.

Viktor sighs and presses Yuri back, rocking his own body forward, really impressing upon Yuri, in a literal sense, his motivation not to forget. 

"Mmm. Do you think you can sleep on your side like this, or should I let you go?" After all the work they did to stretch out, Viktor doesn't want to squander it. And though it'll take him a while to fall asleep, he thinks, Yuri's had a long day and Viktor shouldn't keep him up.

"Nope, I can sleep like this. I usually do anyway." And he just doesn't want Viktor to let him go. He finds Viktor's hand and laces their fingers together as his eyes drift shut. He's not quite that near sleep yet, but he's ready to zone out for a while.

"Okay," Viktor whispers. His thumb strokes steady arcs over the back of Yuri's hand, and his breath feathers through Yuri's hair and across his shoulder. Tomorrow is more skating. Tomorrow will be so good.

They've been quiet together for several long minutes, and Yuri is drifting on the edge of sleep when he remembers something. "Vitya? Will you choreograph my short program for next season? I know you'll be busy with your own programs, and Katsudon's, but if you have the time... If not, I understand."

Viktor pushes himself up onto one elbow, rolling Yuri's shoulder back so he can look at him clearly. They're both sleepy, but despite that, Viktor musters a brightly warm smile.

"Of course, Yura. I'd be honored. And if tomorrow I think that I dreamed this all up, tell me again, alright?" He drops a soft kiss on Yuri's lips, and then snuggles his way back down, returning them both to their close embrace. "I will write a beautiful program for you."

"I know you will." He has to let out a bitter little laugh. "I'm not going to be the one telling Lilia that she doesn't get to choreo for me this year."

"Yura!" A wounded, and not entirely falsely alarmed, gasp. "Don't make me tell her! Who's doing your long, then, if she isn't?"

"God no, I'm going to make Yakov do it." He's sure Lilia will still oversee his ballet training, but the idea of wresting even this little bit of control from her makes him happy. "I asked Stephane today, and he agreed."

"Yakov is going to--? Ohhhh." Viktor snorts. "Oh, I thought you meant--. Heh. Well! Stephane will be wonderful!" Viktor kisses Yuri's shoulder, letting it linger. "I'm not surprised he agreed to. He's very impressed with you, I think."

Yuri cranes his neck so he can look around and up at Viktor. "Is he? I just assumed he was being nice." Because Stephane is never anything other than nice.

"Well, Stephane is always nice. But he has different... _ kinds _ of nice," Viktor says, smiling. "Same as you have different kinds of prickly."

Yuri pouts. "I can be nice, too. Sometimes. Once in a while."

Viktor leans down, kissing the pout off Yuri's lips. They're tucked so closely against each other, but he still feels even another step closer to Yuri when their lips meet. "Yes, sometimes," he teases gently. "When you decide you want to be."

"Exactly." Yuri kisses Viktor again gently. He could happily trade soft kisses with Viktor until one or both of them fell asleep.

Viktor turns Yuri in his arms, so they can keep kissing without twisting Yuri's back. Once again it strikes him how dramatically perfect is the difference in size between their bodies. Yuri's so  _ little _ in his arms. He fits perfectly. "Stephane," Viktor says, between kisses, continuing to tease Yuri because he makes such a sweetly dismayed face. "Just decides he wants to be all the time. It's not a bad way to be, kitten. You could try it~"

Yuri shuffles around and resettles in Viktor's arms, tucking himself in as close as he can. "People would think there was something wrong with me if I was nice all the time like Stephane."

"Oh, so it's a question of expectations now," Viktor laughs, nuzzling Yuri's temple. "Can't change course now, you're too far along, mm?"

"Well, exactly. It's about my reputation." Yuri sighs and tucks his head against Viktor's shoulder, his eyes getting heavy.

"Mmm. Then we ought to protect that, mm?" Viktor kisses Yuri's hair, sighing contentedly. "We'll look out for you..."

"We?" Yuri's almost asleep now, but he has to ask.

"Mmmhmm." Viktor presses another sleepy kiss into Yuri's hair. "You and me both. M'on your side, Yura. We're a team now..."

Yuri nods and wraps an arm around Viktor's waist, squeezing gently. He's never been much of a team player, but for Viktor... he'll learn.

"Love you," Viktor murmurs, soothed to sleep by Yuri's snug warmth. "Love you, Yura."

"Love you, Vitya," Yuri echoes in a mumble as he drifts off.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we really hope you enjoyed this! the boys sure did. ( ¬‿¬)/*
> 
> leave us a comment if you like, or a kudos if you're not the talky type. :) if you've already left us a kudo, please drop us a lil comment with just an emoji or a keymash -- we'd love to know that you're still here reading with us!


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